


the kinda blues

by kyunzite



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: F/M, Genderfluid Character, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Character, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Realistic, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyunzite/pseuds/kyunzite
Summary: n. the sad awareness that the unfolding plot of your life feels new and profound but is not unique, just one of a few dozen possible riffs on the same chord progression, while the tunes reverberating from the jukebox in your chest are all covers of old standards from the Great Emotional Songbook, which is 98% identical to that of the chimpanzee.or, in other words, wonwoo is fine, until he's not (he never was, he's been lying) and then, of course, he has to deal head on with the fact that he’s been wasting his life both searching for and running from things that do not exist.





	1. jeon wonwoo, hypocrite

**Author's Note:**

> this is a repost/edit of a project i started back last spring when i was forcefully cut off from everyone i loved for a period of time. writing this helped me learn a little more about myself and about the relationships i held.
> 
> it's based on real happenings - not all mine, but still real.
> 
> please enjoy it well.
> 
> note: there's a reason i didn't tag who is trans. you'll figure it out along the way.

Wonwoo's not sure how common it is to meet for a friendly lunch date with what most people consider your ex after having been separated for over a year, but it's something that he and his former partner, Lee Jihoon, had kept up, even when they'd both agreed that they weren't going to find the romances they were looking for in each other. They're still good friends, platonic soulmates, even, and that's not something typical either, as far as he knows. He's also not sure how common it is to have your millionaire ex producing your weird podcast, so at this point, Wonwoo is pretty damn sure that he and Jihoon are most likely not that common.

It's pretty easy to see, though, why they split - they just don't match up romantically. Wonwoo is about sweaters, Barnes and Noble, and cups of herbal tea he puts together at home; Jihoon's about tracksuits, Gucci, and overpriced black coffee from Starbucks. Wonwoo's middle class; Jihoon's got more money than he knows what to do with. They run in different social circles, for the most part, but what they  _do_ share is a serious lack of interest in public drama. Their breakup had been amicable, so much so that they didn't consider their separation as a speed bump in their relationship. In fact, Wonwoo felt strongly that them dating at all had been the speed bump, and that he and Jihoon belonged strongly in a platonic sort of relationship. After all, they'd been deep friends for nearly nine years.

So after the dating fiasco had been put behind them and they'd settled happily in a platonic space, they'd kept their Wednesday lunch dates, switching off eatery choices week to week, to meet up and chat amicably about their lives. The honest conversation is a refreshing point in an otherwise well-settled routine for Wonwoo (to the point where the other man himself has actually become part of the brunet's routine) - Jihoon seems absolutely incapable of lying, and his take on reality is pretty interesting, even if the bespectacled man doesn't always agree with him. Sure, they talk on the phone and text all the time, but it's nice to meet up face to face outside the studio.

The weather is clear on this particular day in May, and traffic is moderate, but for some reason, Wonwoo can just sense that the day has a novelesque feel to it. He feels, somehow, like today is just the beginning of something grand, but he has to wonder if that's really what it is, or if it's not just the byproduct of the Benadryl he'd taken with his breakfast to stave off his allergies. Contemplating this as a vehicle roars rudely into the plaza, Wonwoo instinctively looks up and out the window at the noise. Passing his own grey Kia (which he'd parked beside a tree) to slide into one of the parking spots near the door is a snarling black and silver machine that Jihoon's coworker had nicknamed the Wolf.

It is incredibly easy to be jealous of Jihoon, and something inside Wonwoo wants to hate him, but he's not sure if it's possible to hate someone who's probably made out of authenticity. Sighing, he wonders how much of his arrival's impact Jihoon is aware of, and finally, he approaches the hostess and asks for a table for two. It isn't like most people are  _aware_ that Jihoon is the same guy that produces such hit artists as S. Coups, but even if they don't know, his power of presence is fucking overwhelming.

This week's lunch is Jihoon's pick, so they're at some place new and interesting not far from where Wonwoo lives, and as the hostess shows them to their table, Wonwoo remarks in Korean, "You know, for a Korean guy living in New York, you sure like Hispanic food. What's the deal on this place, Mr. Luck?"

"Owners are from the Dominican Republic. They have some fantastic recipes. Food's filling and good. I happened to be at a thing they catered." Jihoon says with a shrug, running his hands through his fading burgundy hair when they get seated. The hostess sets them up with menus, and then leaves to fetch some water to give them while they decide what'll start them off. When she returns, Wonwoo orders a glass bottle of Coke, and Jihoon just orders something called a  _merengue_ (which, last the brunet knew, was either a genre of Latin music or a kind of pie?) and a plate of  _pastelitos_ (why is he ordering cake before food?).

"Jihoon, what should I order?" Wonwoo murmurs, adjusting his glasses, and the younger of the two says, "You know I'm a rice bias. I don't think I have to convince you that I'd kill for  _moro_? It's that rice with the beans cooked in. And that  _puerco guisado._ I'mma say that's a killer. I was gonna get an order of the  _chicharrones de pollo_ with a side of  _moro_. It's fried chicken, but done their way."

"You," Wonwoo responds, "are just a chicken-loving whore, aren't you?" His eyes scan everything that seems safe to eat (which is to say, anything without seafood), and eventually, he settles on this thing called  _La Bandera_ , which seems to be the place's specialty. "Anyway, how are things with the man, Jihoon?" The brunet inquires as the waitress deposits two bottles on the table, one that is obviously Coke and one containing a yellow-gold soda. She lays down a plate between them as well, of something that he would liken to mandoo (which is a fucking stretch, given that they're barely like mandoo in any way except in shape [and that's if he takes off his glasses, stands a yard away, leans back, and squints]), except these are probably 300% larger and exactly 100% more fried. These must be the  _pastelitos,_ which lead Wonwoo to believe he really needs to brush up on his Spanish food-ordering words _._ Taking their order for the main course, the waitress leaves them with that, hustling back into the kitchen and out of sight.

Taking one of the pastry-seeming things, he bites hesitantly into it, but then finds it's good and contains meat, not anything sweet. Crunching away at it, he listens to Jihoon go on for a bit about his love life and his relationship with his nice new boyfriend, who seems like, in another life, he'd be Wonwoo's type, all tall and neat like the other describes him. It makes him feel a little jealous, and he takes another one of those  _pastelitos_ to help busy himself with something but his bad attitude. By the time the food comes, they've eaten their way through their whole appetizer, and like the incurable soda addicts they are, they both have to order second drinks.

"Alright, though," Jihoon says, as Wonwoo snaps a photo of each of their dishes for his social media, "you haven't said a word about your own love life. What's going down in Jeon lovin' town?"

"Nothing, oh my God. Say that again and I'll probably just fucking die."

Jihoon opens his mouth, smirk playing on his lips, and Wonwoo says, "That was not a challenge." Rolling his eyes at the shorter man's idea of a joke, he starts on his food.  _La Bandera_ seems like it's a real steal for $8.99 - rice, beans, that pork Jihoon had mentioned, a side salad (large enough that it could be a main dish if someone threw meat on top and tried to sell it for $12 at the Whole Foods), and some fried yellow plantains? Just for that bargain, Wonwoo is damn sure that he's coming back here. It manages to be cheap and incredibly good; it's all got just the right amount of seasoning to it, so he doesn't even have to think about the salt shaker. He's savoring his food well until the fool sitting across from him suddenly has words to say.

"Maybe we should have a funeral," Jihoon says around a mouthful of red beans and rice and a piece of chicken.

The comment's out of nowhere, and it makes Wonwoo look up and arch a brow at Jihoon. He's got a spoonful of his beans halfway to his mouth, and while he  _is_ hungry, he finds the comment sudden enough that he has to ask before he has another bite.

"What are you talking about? Who's dead?" Wonwoo asks, and Jihoon responds, helping himself to a slice of lime from the bowl the waitress had placed on Wonwoo's side of the table, "Your love life. You haven't dated anyone since me, and since you've stopped commenting on people that you think are attractive when we hang out again, I know for a fact that means you're either dead inside... or you're caught up in your head again over a perceived bad run, which is kinda the same thing. So come on. Spill it." He squeezes the lime over his chicken, and the brunet can only hope that he chokes on all that acid for being so  _fucking astute._

"How the hell do you know that?" Wonwoo says venomously, shooting the other a glare.

Jihoon takes another mouthful, chewing thoughtfully, and then he says, "I'd say it was a lucky guess, but you're just obvious. You did it with Seungcheol. And Minghao. And then me, both before  _and_ after we broke up, until we went platonic and you had me back. And you did it again with your most recent, and might I add,  _tragic_ crush on Jeonghan four months ago before you found out he was dating Soonyoung, at which point you turned sulky and petulant, even if you weren't going to make a move because, uh, that's just who you are."

That makes Wonwoo choke on his food a little with something between amusement and indignance - nothing ever seems to escape Jihoon's sharp eyes, and sure enough, it had only been a matter of time before his friend had gotten him all figured out. He manages to swallow his mouthful, and then he says, "Listen, the Jeonghan thing was  _an isolated incident_. It's not that big a deal."

Taking a swig of his soda, Jihoon savors it for a moment, and then he says to Wonwoo, "That's bullshit and you know it. Are you just gonna forget that you basically had a meltdown when you got the balls to ask Jeonghan on a date and he turned you down because he had a boyfriend?"

"Listen, you  _prick_ ," the brunet hisses as he feels his ears get warm, "it wasn't a meltdown. I was reasonably upset and I turned to you, my platonic partner, in confidence for support."

Now it's Jihoon's turn to arch a brow and point at him with the back of his fork. "That may be, but for Jeon Wonwoo, I'm gonna guess that going through a whole bottle of wine, putting a significant dent in an order of 60 chicken nuggets, and watching every romantic movie you could dredge up on my Netflix before you passed out in a food coma isn't normal. You haven't talked to Jeonghan in like, three months, and you used to text every day. It's like, on the fucking verge,” the younger man says with a wave of his hand, “of turning into drama. I'm calling you on this now because if I don't, you're going to wallow in it, you pessimistic shit, and I think that, as both your ex and your friend, you really can't let the Jeonghan incident and your past failures hold you back. Come on. You're back on your bullshit. Maybe I can help you."

Wonwoo takes a long drink from his Coke, and he says, "Jihoon, nothing is happening. There's no crush. There's no one, not yet."

"So it's not a crush, but it's  _the_ crush." Jihoon murmurs, his heckling stalled in the face of his friend's real emotion. Wonwoo has more food, trying to subtly stuff his mouth so he just doesn't have to fucking talk, but the shorter man asks, trying to coax an answer out of him, “You know that if you keep thinking about a man you haven't met yet that's going to come and sweep you off into the sunset, you're going to get hurt again. If you'd just... focus on reality a little, maybe let me show you some people..."

There is silence between them for a bit, and Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Listen, stop trying to rub your luck on me. I don't want it. It doesn't matter what I think. It's not going to happen like I think. Knowing my chances, we've met, and you know how many people I meet in this line of work."

"So then what you're saying is that you're worried that it's someone from Woozi's Room."

" _No,_ " Wonwoo grits out. Jihoon snaps his fingers and points, and then he makes another guess: "Someone in the friend group."

"No, but that would be terrible." Wonwoo says, disgruntled at the fact that he plays willingly into Jihoon's game. He braces for another question, but it never comes.

"Ah, fuck it," the mullet-sporting man says suddenly, waving a hand dismissively and crunching on a piece of chicken. "Fuck it. Talking to you about things like capital-T, capital-C, The Crush is an actual hell mostly consisting of you being an avoidant shit, and I already get enough of that. Let's change the subject. Did you hear about Jun and Chan?" Wonwoo stares at Jihoon, disregarding the half plate of food he still has sitting on the table. Had it really been that easy to get Lee Jihoon to let something go? He doesn't believe it for a nanosecond, but he takes advantage of it while it's dangling in his face, and changes the subject.

"Hear about it? I'm living it. Jun's sleeping on my fucking furniture. I've been dying to get her to go make up with Chan, but she's a wreck. I figure letting them sit and stew a bit will help them settle eventually, enough for one of them to grow a pair and actually talk about their problems. Jun's so whipped for that kid, but she's been more stressed than ever since coming out as genderfluid." Wonwoo says, wrinkling his nose.

"You know," Jihoon remarks, suddenly drifting off topic, “Maybe rather than waiting for The Crush to come sweep you off your Oxford-wearing feet, what your ass needs is a fucking reality check. Stop being so dead-set on love and settle for a hookup. Might get the hypocrite stick out of your ass."

Well, that hurts, and it effectively kills the conversation on Wonwoo's part - Jihoon, however, is generally unaffected by the offended vibe coming off the brunet, and keeps on eating, even finishing some of what Wonwoo leaves behind and ordering dessert to go.

They part ways after in in the parking lot, as they always do, and agree to meet later that evening in Jihoon's studio for their biweekly recording session. Wonwoo watches as Jihoon throws on his riding jacket and crams a bright pink motorcycle helmet over his wine red hair. He might be a fucking hooligan a vast majority of the time, but he cares enough about his life to think that he really should protect himself. When he's ready, he peels out of the parking lot of the restaurant without a single glance back, and once he's out of sight, Wonwoo steps off the curb, walking to and then getting into his car. He buckles up, checks his mirrors, and then he groans, loud and long. Resting his head on the steering wheel, Jeon Wonwoo has to wonder what he did to deserve all of this, and where the love of his life is (because he's sure as fuck  _not here yet_ ).

-

Driving, even locally, is a fucking nightmare.

Wonwoo doesn't like to drive anywhere other than the airport, the grocery store, lunch dates that are close by his place, and maybe Yonkers or Paterson, New Jersey, on a good day. Traffic is stressful, parking is stressful, and tolls and parking meters cost money (which is, predictably, stressful).

Today's lunch date hadn't been far from his place, so he'd taken the car, and thankfully, on his return, his favorite parking space on the corner is free. At least that's one less thing, he thinks, he'll end up brooding over at night out of frustration. He's been living in New York since he moved from Korea maybe eight(-ish?) years ago, in a decent second-floor one-bedroom in the Bronx, and the biggest lesson he's learned is that having a car makes him both the cool friend  _and_ the stupid friend. Obviously, whenever anyone needs a lift to or from the airport or needs help moving, Wonwoo's number is on speed dial, but of course, there are never any promises on whether he'll be able to find a place to park when he comes back from that, or if he'll just be circling, like a headass, for a half-hour, in search of a space to squeeze his car in.

Getting out of the car and taking his shoulder bag, he walks past some kids deeply involved in one of those hand games and takes the steps up to the front of the building. The door's propped open; Shownu, one of the neighborhood guys, is in a plastic chair with a protein shake, keeping an eye on the kids playing outside. With his physique, he seems like the kind of guy to start trouble, like some sort of a thug, but he's sweet and caring to children. Wonwoo has mad respect for him. As he passes, the beefy man nods a silent greeting, and Wonwoo, nodding back, heads in toward the elevator. He takes it because he's lazy more than anything, despite being fully capable of taking the stairs, and he drags himself down the hall to the third door on the right, past five other apartments.

Letting himself into 2-F, he locks the door behind him, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he spots a figure draped over his couch and wrapped up in his throw blanket. His memory kicks in before the fright can send him back out into the hall for help, and he remembers that, once again, Junhui and her (or, well, he's going to assume  _her_ and not  _his,_ given that Jun hadn't texted him about a pronoun change) boyfriend had a fight. Fears assuaged, the brunet takes off his shoes and drops them in the basket by the door before hanging his bag off a hook on the coat rack. For the umpteenth time that day, Wonwoo has to wonder how the hell he got caught up in all this gay drama, and, heaving a sigh, he throws his keys into the key bowl on the coffee table.

"Jun, I'm back from lunch with Jihoon."

"Did you bring me anything?" Jun's muffled voice says in slightly accented English from under the blanket, and Wonwoo snorts.

"I'm not going to baby you because you and Chan are fighting. My wallet is way over your quarrels, my girl, and besides, I already let you have my couch while you two sort it out."

What Jihoon said stings again, but he swallows it back and hands out some more advice he knows he himself won't ever follow. "Solve your own problems, Jun. You gotta go get your man.”

He can practically hear Jun pouting, but eventually, the Chinese woman emerges, bare from the waist up, from her blanket cocoon to squint at her bespectacled host when Wonwoo pads in his sock feet to the window to open up the blinds. The sun isn't direct on the front of the building, which is nice; there's light, but not an intolerable heat, and as Wonwoo picks up the Switch controller from off the entertainment center, Jun says, "I was thinking of going back and making up with Chan."

Wonwoo doesn't even spare Jun a glance as he starts up a game of Smash, and he responds with, "Jun, listen. I love you to death, but whatever you do, it's your name on the lease. Next time Chan gives you shit, I'm gonna suggest that you throw that bitch out on his ass until he gets himself together. What are you even fighting about anyway? I thought you guys got along okay for the most part." He flicks through his list of friends, sending invites, and starts playing while Jun sits up on the couch, carding a hand through her bleach blonde locks, and then draws her knees to her toned chest.

"We do! I mean, I love Chan so much, Wonwoo, you have no idea."

"I think I might, girl." Wonwoo says with a laugh, not once glancing away from the screen.

"I guess." Jun mumbles, and then shakes her head slowly. "Anyway, it's just... Something's on his mind, and he won't tell me what. I think it has something to do with his parents, and so now he's been smoking weed in the apartment again. I don't want him smoking around me, because you know how I get about it, but if I tell him off when he's upset... He's been like this for days, and I just feel bad for pressing."

"So instead of confronting him on the issue, you brought your passive-aggressive ass to sleep on my couch because you think that's a better solution." The brunet sighs, scowling a little bit as he thinks of what Jihoon said again. "I mean, same fuckin' hat, Jun, no shade there, but if you really want to work things out, I don't think passive-aggression is the way to go." Wonwoo says, watching intently as Kirby sends Princess Peach flying off the side of the damn screen. Jun groans, putting her head in her hands, and she says, “I need to talk to him, ugh, but I look like shit and feel like shit.”

“You're welcome to the facilities, as always,” Wonwoo says, and then tacks on, “I'm sorry I don't have anything not my usual scent. You probably don't want to smell like cologne to go chat with Chan.”

“It's okay. The smell of your products is the least of my worries.”

Silence falls between them, thoughtful but not awkward, and then the blonde gets up and heads to the bathroom. She showers with the door open (which Wonwoo thinks is weird, but he doesn't blame Jun; the windowless room can get pretty suffocating if you're not used to it), and when she's done running the water, she slams the door shut to get dressed with whatever she's got packed in the backpack she brought with her.

Seconds later, it's open again, and Jun calls, "Wonwoo, can I get a ride with you today on your way to work?"

Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo responds as he manages to take the final life of the person playing Pikachu, "I take the train into Manhattan for work, so no can do. Get your shit and take the train like the rest of us."


	2. incidents, irreverence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to all like. five kudos this thing has

In the early evening, Jun does indeed get her shit and take the train (at the same time that Wonwoo does); however, she and Wonwoo part ways at the Grand Concourse station, where Jun has to switch to another train to make her way to the apartment she shares with Chan, but Wonwoo stays on the 5 Express into Manhattan and hops off at the stop nearest Jihoon's place. It's past sunset by the time he emerges from the station, and dark when he's asking Jihoon to buzz him in at the apartment building.  
  
It's at this hour that other people are at work here. The evening and night are prime time for peaceful recording sessions, and most of those recording now have put their day lives aside to pour out their souls in front of a mic in what's most simply known as Woozi's Room (even if it's more than one room).  
  
Wonwoo is just one of multiple people working with the successful producer who's been able to make a large chunk of his living on this; between his tracks and his podcast (which he's actually here to record today), he makes about half his income, and the rest come from articles he writes and edits for a magazine a friend of Jihoon's owns. It's a safe and comfortable living, and Seokmin's promised him that, should he ever need, he can always pick up more work with Prism Magazine to cover his ass, which is basically just the best form of job security around.  
Being close to Jihoon, better known in the public eye as the mysterious Woozi, had kinda set Wonwoo up for life. If the shorter man had remained his ex, the brunet is confident he'd be resentful beyond words. Having him around as a platonic partner softens the blow, but considering the mess of feelings that still surround Jihoon in Wonwoo's life, he has to wonder if he'll ever work through it.  
  
Eventually, he has to put all that aside, given that it's time to work. Checking in at the front desk of the fancy building where the younger man lives and works (because of course, Jihoon has managed to make himself successful enough by 26 that he can own and independently manage an eight floor building that doubles as a business), he goes up to the fourth floor, enters the area of the recording rooms and throws open the studio door only to find Jihoon in the process of queuing some music for Jeonghan's radio show while the oldest of the three of them sits in the booth, arranging some papers. Immediately, Wonwoo backs right out of the room with the excuse of 'sorry, I'm early' (because shit, he's like 40 minutes early, isn't he? Of course he is!), and fucking asks himself, sliding his fingers under the nose pads of his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, why, even if they're not sexually involved anymore, Jihoon somehow, however indirectly, always keeps on fucking him.  
  
As much as Wonwoo would love to pretend to not be sore about the Jeonghan incident, he is still very sensitive about it, and behind his stony expression, he is panicking himself stupid. He's been avoiding Jeonghan for weeks (or, at least, interacting with him and letting the newly bob-cut blond see his face).  
  
Wonwoo's heart melts out of his rib cage, puddling in his shoes as he leans on the wall, still holding the bridge of his damn nose and trying his best to keep his breathing in check. To anyone outside the mind of Jeon Wonwoo (which is to say, everyone), he looks angry, but in himself, he feels like he's going to crumble.  
  
When did he get so delicate? He doesn't have time to wonder about it, because the door beside him opens, and Jihoon sticks his head out, looking up as he turns shifts the slider beside the light switch to turn on the sign above the door.  
  
_ON AIR,_ say the bright red LED lights, and Jihoon steps out to join Wonwoo. He looks the taller up and down, sizing him up, and says, “He told me over the back end of an Imogen Heap track that he's been trying to talk to you for months, Wonwoo.”  
  
Wonwoo's voice is strained. “What's there to talk about?”  
  
Jihoon inhales through his teeth, and then he brings his fist back and rams it into Wonwoo's arm so hard that the brunet actually yelps. “You fucking idiot . There's the whole-ass world to talk about if you stop being a hypocritical fuckboy and filling in the blanks for everyone else. You're all hung up on your ideas.”  
  
“I'm not a fu-” Wonwoo begins, but then Jihoon grabs him by the neck of his sweater and pulls him down so they're eye-level in the soundproofed hallway. A trickle of sweat runs down Wonwoo's back as the shorter man leans in, giving him a rough shake, cinnamon breath so close and so heavy that the brunet's glasses steam up a little bit. His voice isn't loud when he speaks, but what it lacks in volume it more than makes up for in ferocity.  
  
“You're a fuckboy, you're a headass, and you need to get the fuck over yourself. You're twenty six, and you're in the hall staving off a panic attack because someone who rejected you saw your face for not even twenty fucking seconds. Now, I'm going to make a decision for you today, Jeon Wonwoo. It's gonna tape up the Jeonghan Incident once and for all, and someday down the damn road, you're going to thank me for it. I'm doing this shit as your friend and, yes, as your platonic partner! I am so fucking sick of watching you run yourself into the ground because of some shit that you could fucking beat if you just fucking tried! You're so anxious that you won't even talk to anyone! You only have me, and damn it, I'm going to fix you!”  
  
Jihoon takes a shuddering breath, and he squeezes his eyes shut before opening them and meeting the other man's. Wonwoo can't even blink, and Jihoon searches his eyes as if he needs some kind of confirmation that the taller of the two is still listening. He seems to take the other's unsteady breaths as proof, and he shakes Wonwoo again, this time more feebly.  
  
They're silent, but this silence isn't like the one that usually sits between them. This one is strained and shaky – taut, that's the word – and Wonwoo wants it to stop.  
  
“Please,” Jihoon says, voice deadly soft, and in that single word of supplication is what feels like a damned order because he follows up with, “Fuck everything else. You're sitting on those feelings, and they're bigger than me. Bigger than even your weird obsessive search for an ideal, and bigger than you. I know I talk a huge game, but that's something I can't make better. And if you don't fucking deal with it...”  
  
He pauses, and Wonwoo finally shuts his eyes, turning his face from Jihoon's as he murmurs what's on both their minds.  
  
“You're worried because of what happened with...”  
  
“I may not be in love with you, but I love you. End of the day, Mingyu's my boyfriend, but you are my platonic partner.” Jihoon whispers.  
  
“I'm not at that point,” Wonwoo tries to assure the younger, even putting a hand over his, but when Jihoon looks up at him and the brunet sees that he's crying, he feels helpless. Jihoon, who he's starting to realize he'd made his rock, his whole definition of steady, is shaking apart with silent sobs. Wonwoo is speechless, choking up a little bit himself, and Jihoon turns away from  
him, finally, to go back in the studio and queue up the phone calls for the interactive segment of Jeonghan's show. At the door, he looks back, clearly trying to pull himself together, and he says, “You're not where he was, but you know what you're carrying around. It might not be today. It might not be tomorrow. But I don't want it to be ever, Wonwoo.”  
  
Sitting against the foam layer that pads the wall, finally alone with his thoughts, Wonwoo reaches into his shoulder bag and pulls out his script for that day's recording. Looking over it, it feels empty, but since he doesn't have time to write another, he'll have to run with it. He trades it for his notebook in his bag, however, and jots something down.  
  
-  
  
The door to the studio clicks open a little while later, and when he looks up from his messy list, expecting his best friend, it's Jeonghan that's come out. Instinctively, he panics a little bit inside, but when a head crowned with a wine-red mullet sticks out of the room and Jihoon mouths 'talk the fuck to him!', gives him the best death glare he can muster (an extremely impressive one, even with his eyes all red from crying), and then ducks back into the room to prep for Wonwoo's recording session.  
  
Standing, Wonwoo faces Jeonghan, who gives him a warm smile. In an instant, it's all clear once again why he was so in love with the older man, and he can feel his mouth go dry when Jeonghan says, “Hi, Wonwoo. I've missed talking with you.”  
  
Forcing the words out, the brunet runs a hand through his hair and looks everywhere except into Jeonghan's eyes. “Yeah, um. I had a phase. I'm sorry for it. It was bullshit on my part.”  
The statement doesn't faze the other man, who just pats him on the shoulder and says, “I get it, though. I know that I was probably way, way too harsh when I told you I was involved with Soonie. I guess I knew your intentions a little bit, and I... I liked your attention, so I didn't curb you.” Jeonghan bites his lip, tilting his head, and he says, “I didn't really think about how it would hurt you because I wanted you to stick around, so that much is on me.”  
  
Jihoon sticks his hand out this time, with a thumbs-up raised behind Jeonghan's back from inside the recording room, and Wonwoo sighs again. “I think I would have done the same if I were you. Looks like it's on both of us. Would you say we're even?”  
  
Jeonghan doesn't hesitate for a moment before he nods and says, “I'd say we are. Since we're on good terms now, Nonu, you really should come out to an event or something. I know your program's not so much a talk or music show as a podcast, but I think you'd be a great addition to the parties we have with some of the other people who record here at Woozi's Room and their plus ones. Think about it? If you want to come, we'll be at Mingyu's on Saturday.”  
  
Wonwoo manages a little smile, and, after some good-byes, Jeonghan's gone, and the brunet enters the recording room.  
Jihoon's in his plush chair – after all, this recording room's his home turf, the source of all his fame – fiddling with sliders and dials to make sure the recording comes out with the quality and tone that Wonwoo's show warrants.  
  
“Did it kill you, headass?” Jihoon says, his snark mitigated by the fact that his voice is obviously tear-ravaged. “Was it so bad talking to him and getting your nasty passive-aggression resolved?”  
  
Wonwoo rolls his eyes, making his way into the booth to rearrange things a bit. Jeonghan preferred a lower chair and a small table for his notes, so he gets them out of the way and replaces them with a high stool and a music stand. Getting his headset on, he checks to see that everything's good on his end, and then gives a thumbs up to Jihoon.  
  
The LED panel above the window where he's looking out at his producer lights up, flashing him a bright white square, and then it flashes a red circle, once, twice, three times. He takes a breath, and then as the recording starts, he hears the music start in his headset. It's a soft tune, just a backing track for the podcast's opening that Jihoon had helped him compose, and Wonwoo glances at his notes just before he's supposed to come in.  
  
Licking his lips, he closes his eyes, leans into the mic a little bit, and starts talking.

* * *

 _You begin by looking out the window of a taxicab every time you pass by where you hope they live. Then there's someone you look for on the street, and it certainly isn't your ex. No, no, it's someone else entirely; you lay in bed at night thinking about them, thinking about if somehow, some way, the love you're going to have for them is something they can feel without knowing your name or knowing you'll end up in love or knowing that you probably have met, once in a train station or a coffee shop or in the back of the supermarket where the off-brand ham is. You know, there's a 50% chance that you've already met the person you're going to marry by the time you graduate high school. But since marriage was only for straight people from what could basically be considered ever up until not even ten years ago and high school is a hell that you want to forget, what if it's more than that? What if you're at 60%? What if you're at 90%?  
_  
_You fall in love with the idea of them before the actual, physical realization of all that is anywhere near reachable. The more you think of them, the more the world becomes brighter and more alive, and on the days the sun comes out, you wonder if that's nature's way of telling you that, yes, you accidentally touched hands with your soulmate in the park, or if the sudden rain that drove you into the bodega on a Tuesday evening is just the clouds' way of boxing you and your future lover into the same space. You question even dust, for gathering to keep secrets in all the places that you never thought to look, in all the mundane spaces that only, up to then, had belonged to the realm of things that you forgot.  
_  
_And then when you go deeper, it circles you like vultures, because now the feeling is something else. Now it's not the same anymore, because you've been days, months, maybe years in love with a concept that no one's even been able to compare to, and now, it is starting to hurt you. You are starting to miss someone you've never met, and the start of depression is pecking at your soul._  
  
_You don't want to let it happen, but since it's part of you, in your head, you can't actually keep it out. You've never been able to keep it out, to keep them and the fact that they're not here yet out._  
  
_You've been dating, you've been kissing, you've been staying nights. They're still not here, and with every failure, it's easier to sit back and quit. It's a little easier to wait and to hide and to just hope that things come your way without a change. You don't wanna change. You don't wanna work for it, because they're supposed to be inevitable, so you sit there, and you sulk._  
  
_It's been four years. You're still there._  
  
_They're still not here._  
  
_But of course, on the outside, you haven't changed. You seem fine. No one asks, you never answer, and nothing ever changes._  
  
_This is fine, even if it's not fine, right?_  
  
_This is the story of you._

 

* * *

  
The recording wraps up completely in 10 to 15 minutes, since he has to do a second take because he stumbles over his words in the last section of the first one. He records twice weekly, so there's no reason to aim for longer recordings like some people who record less frequently have. He comes out of the booth, and Jihoon plays the audio back for him right there. The total raw audio without the music is maybe five minutes long, so since there are still way over sixty minutes in their session, Jihoon starts cutting the edits right there, adding in the pauses and the music.  
  
Wonwoo has been using his show to talk about his feelings for years. His emotions never come out, but on The Story of You , the way those feelings affect him has been shared with the world. It helps some, but Wonwoo can't say he's over it.  
  
“I didn't,” the brunet says, as Jihoon's fingers fly over the keyboard, “rewrite the script.”  
  
“I can tell. This is about your search for love again.” Jihoon responds, his voice briefly sounding to Wonwoo like it had when they'd first met. It shakes him a little, to be totally frank, and swallowing thickly, he speaks again.  
  
“I wanted to, but there wasn't time.”  
  
Jihoon looks at Wonwoo, right in the eyes, and blinks just once. Neither of their faces has anything to say, but when Jihoon's hand reaches over to squeeze Wonwoo's on the table, they both know what he means.  
  
_No, you didn't. But it's okay._

After Wonwoo, Jihoon has a few more sessions, but he jots down the address to Mingyu's apartment on a corner of the brunet's notes for his next script. He's already confirmed his attendance; now, he promises himself he won't try to weasel out of it unless he really, truly can't get there.  
  
So then, from Woozi's Room, it's an uneventful ride home on the 2 train, a few blocks' walk back to his apartment, and then the night becomes a matter of digging up the motivation to not collapse into the bed with a nice book and instead, feed himself.  
  
He ticks around the kitchen aimlessly, trying to figure out what he can eat without cooking too much. Eventually, Wonwoo settles on quinoa and chicken salad (or his version of it, at least). It's filling enough, and it's not immensely complicated, so while the quinoa simmers, he cracks open a can of chicken, adds some green onion, a dollop of mayonnaise, and a handful of cranberries, and mixes it up. He throws in some salt, and then drops it in some Tupperware. He scoops the quinoa out of the pot and into the container, and eats while standing at the counter.  
  
It's a little frustrating that he's bad at cooking, even if his quick meals to feed himself aren't that terrible. In fact, this one's pretty good, and he savors the simple dish; his real problem is his homesickness. He misses Korea, he misses Korean food, and he misses his family. It's been 8 years, and he hasn't gone back since he'd arrived.  
  
Home, for Jeon Wonwoo, is here now, but it did not become that way of his own volition.  
  
When he's done eating, Wonwoo drags himself into bed with his laptop.  
  
As soon as he turns it on, his Discord account pings. Glancing at it, he realizes it's Jihoon.  
  
He is actually so over talking to this guy, and more so when he reads the messages waiting for him in the log.  
  
**#1 Lucio Main:**  
_I got a facebook message from bhk_  
_He misses u a lot_  
_Hes been trying to talk with u but he says u have him blocked on your sm and he doesnt wanna bother you_  
_Are u still trying to protect him_  
_Hes an adult wonwoo i think u need to let him make his own choices_  
_I know u miss him too_  
_Just think abt letting him back in_  
**Wonton:**  
_i already have enough on my mind tonight._  
_so i don't fucking need you bringing him back._  
_good night, jihoon._  
  
The other doesn't message him again, and Wonwoo shuts his laptop and puts it on the opposite side of his bed, the desire to destress lost and replaced by the urge to wallow.  
  
Fucking Jihoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on twitter @kyunzite


	3. radio hell party

The rest of the week is peaceful, given that it mostly consists of the brunet avoiding his problems. Wonwoo's articles for Seokmin at Prism Magazine are due Friday (and of course, they're written by Thursday), so once those are in, he treats himself to some Greek food and a new book to fit into his growing collection. After a stroll in the park with an ice cream (fuck yeah, cream cheese black raspberry) and deeper consideration as to how he really should probably get a pet to keep him company, he heads home.  
  
On the train back, his pay for his articles and the tips on his podcast drop into his bank account, and when he gets back to his place, Wonwoo makes his payments, his budget for the month, and sets out a plan for what topics he'll write on for his next due date.  
  
Changing into pajama pants and throwing a robe on to cover his bare upper body, he fixes himself some soup, since there's thunder on the horizon. Rain's soup weather, his grandma used to say, and now, even thousands of kilometers away from home, Wonwoo strongly believes that holds true. It's just Progresso chicken noodle out of a can with all the celery picked out and powdered ginger thrown in for some flavor, but it cheers his heart up a little bit to have it. He's been trying to avoid thinking about other things, about before , but ever since Jihoon's message, it's all been in the back of his mind. When it's done heating on the stovetop, rather than pour it in a bowl, he serves it in a large mug, then makes for the bedroom after shutting off the stove, sock feet silent on the hardwood.  
  
 _My suffering left me gloomy,_ his book begins, and, taking a sip of his strange little dinner, Wonwoo lets himself sink into the story.  
It is a welcome relief from his own problems.

The last line he remembers reading is _I would go on loving._  
  
He sits up, yawning, and clicks the home button on his phone to see the time. Unfortunately, the damn thing is dead; he'd fallen asleep with his book in his hands and his empty mug of soup on the nightstand, so he hasn't charged it. Plugging in his phone, he inspects the cat-shaped analog clock on the nightstand.  
  
It's past 11:30. He'd slept pretty late, but he lets himself slide on this one. After all, it's Saturday, and there are no work assignments to handle, and no house cleaning to do, since he'd done that on Thursday.  
  
If not for the fact that he's a little bit of a clean freak (roaches in places Wonwoo strongly feels they do not belong have made him into a shining example of home maintenance) who can boast about there being no unruly insects in his home, it'd already be overrun with the spawn of hell itself. Despite knowing it's most likely empty, he still peeks inside before picking up the mug. He's not going to take any chances on having a demon crawl over his hand. Not the fuck on his watch, Satan. The lady next door still has roaches, something about her religion not letting her kill anything or contribute to its killing, and while he loves that she believes in something, he has to wonder if it's absolutely fucking necessary that roaches and rodents count as living things.  
  
Padding into the kitchen, he sets the soup mug in the sink and pops a Cinnabon K-Cup into the Keurig. He gets it started brewing before returning to check his phone, which is pinging incessantly. He must have received a shit-ton of notifications overnight.  
  
Sure enough, when he views his notifications, it's almost all messages from Jihoon over Discord.  
  
**#1 Lucio Main:**  
 _U better not be planning to bail tonight at mingyus party_  
 _Jeonghan really wants u to show and u need to get out more_  
 _Also chan and jun made up again lmao I give it like three days_  
 _Where r u??? Its only 2:50 I thought we were gonna play overwatch_  
 _Are u fucking sleeping u weenie_  
 _Looks like ur sleeping or w/e_  
 _I guess get some rest lmao we cant all be the same level of awake as my insomniac ass_  
 _When you wake up join this server_  
  
There's an invite link to join the aforementioned server, Radio Hell Party , and Wonwoo opens it and gets added in.  
  
The Keurig beeps, and since his phone finally has some charge, he takes it with him to the kitchen to retrieve his coffee. Pouring some creamer in, he checks on Radio Hell Party, checking out who'd been recently active.  
  
There haven't been any messages since about 10 AM, but Jihoon had clearly been up until late talking in the server, if the log is anything to go by. His words gets more and more incoherent as the timestamps get more and more alarming. His last message is basically nonsense ( _fucking mcd breakafast sondsiwshes stnached my whoole weave_ ), and it's marked about 9:25 AM. Sighing, Wonwoo reads up a little, to the messages marked about 8 AM.  
  
**Hoon:**  
 _I invited wonwoo in this server but i think the bitch is asleep_  
 _The loser will probably be in when he wakes up later_  
 **Hannie:**  
 _As you should be! It's Saturday! The only reason that I'm awake is because I went to sleep at 9 yesterday ^u^_  
 **Cheol:**  
 _im gonna agree with jh on this one!_  
 _wz u need to sleep!_  
 **Hoon:**  
 _I will sleep when exhaustion pries me being awake out of my cold unconscious hands thank u_  
 **Cheol:**  
 _wait are we talking about the same ww that records with wz_  
 _i love that guys cast its so deep_  
 **Hoon:**  
 _Wonwoo is a good writer_  
 _Works his ass off for his podcast_  
 **Hannie:**  
 _Wait, wait! What's it called? I haven't listened to it :0000_  
 **Juni:**  
 _OHHHH FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE IS GONNA STAN_  
 _HKFAKCF_  
 _wonwoo's podcast is called 'the story of you' and it is KILLER_  
 _he posts biweekly, on monday and thursday_  
 **Hani:**  
 _How long are the episodes?_  
 **Juni:**  
 _like ten minutes but i really like them_  
 _dm me what you think when you listen_  
 **Noni:**  
 _not to kill the stan shindig boys but party @ gyus is still on right??_  
 **Kwani:**  
 _And how fucked up are we aiming for?_  
 **Hao:**  
 _If I have a say, I move we aim for extremely fucked up_  
 _If it's a party, I think we better party hard_  
 _@Gyu What's allowed?_  
 **Gyu:**  
 _No hard drugs, and if you get drunk, you're not driving!_  
 **Chani:**  
 _weed?_  
 **Gyu:**  
 _No smoking. I have really nice upholstered couches and I don't want them smelling like that relax grass._  
 **Chani:**  
 _i'll pre-game._  
 **Juni:**  
 _not on MY WATCH, chanjamin_  
 **Hao:**  
 _Jun, what the literal fuck just came out of your figurative mouth?_  
  
The conversation goes on like that for a while, talking about what's going to happen in the evening, and even if it sounds like it's going to be a wild party, he quickly realizes from the context that there's going to be a dozen people at best at this event. He finally catches up to the server's general log, where there are a few new messages, and sets his coffee mug in the sink before returning to the bed to be a slave to his phone charger.  
  
There are a handful of chat members he doesn't know – he doesn't know Mingyu in person, only through Jihoon's stories. He knows Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Jun, Soonyoung, Jihoon (obviously), Seokmin, Minghao, and Chan. He doesn't know Kwani, Noni, or Shua, but he assumes, by their participation in the chat, that they'll be at the party too.  
  
**Hani:**  
 _Ah, hey! Jihoon said you'd be here, Wonwoo. I hope you don't mind, but I changed your display name to match everyone else's. ^u^_  
 **Nonu:**  
 _no, i don't mind. sorry for taking forever to reply; i was backreading for context._  
 _what's up, jeonghan?_  
 **Hani:**  
 _Not much! I'm just laying in bed. And of course, as you saw, enforcing the 'if you don't bring food to the party, you don't get to eat anything at it' rule. Soonyoung's out jogging before the sun gets too high overhead._  
 **Kwani:**  
 _I honestly, honestly love that rule._  
 _I feel like it's the most fair!_  
 _We're all grown people, right? It can't kill any of us to shell out maybe $20 at best for snacks._  
 **Noni:**  
 _speak the fuck for yourself seungkwan_  
 _i still live with my parents_  
 _$20 is a depressingly significant amount of money for me_  
 **Shua:**  
 _I'm issuing you the Get a Real Job Challenge._  
 **Seokki:**  
 _challenge mcfailed_  
  
Wonwoo smiles a little despite himself. The people in the chat are amusing, they seem friendly, and maybe, just maybe, this could be a good change for him.

-  
  
He's late, of course, arriving at the 7:30 event at 8:15, because parking is hell, and he ended up two blocks away from the actual event, but after Jihoon buzzes him in, and Jeonghan ushers him in at the apartment door, he doesn't feel like it's that much of an issue.

The first little while of the party mostly consists of Wonwoo getting his bearings. First on the list is Jeonghan, who gives him a warm hug and takes the bottle of wine and the cheesecake he'd brought and goes to take them into the kitchen. Wonwoo wanders into the living room, looking around, and finds that Seungcheol's there, in his thick-soled shoes and his patterned jacket. His hair's silvery, and his arm's around Minghao while they pose for selcas. The Chinese breaker's hair is fluffy and red-brown, sporting a mullet, and when their selcas are taken, they both greet Wonwoo briefly before huddling together to update Minghao's Instagram. They're a pair of fashionistas, after all – they need to update their social media before they end up partying themselves into some kind of a mess.  
  
When he drifts away from them, he spots Jihoon coming out of the kitchen with a bright orange can of what Wonwoo lovingly calls poison and a brand-new ink-black dye job and his mullet chopped off. From the kitchen, he hears Jeonghan shout, and then he hears the mess of laughter that indicates Soonyoung's in there causing a ruckus (which, if he knows Jihoon at all, is probably the exact reason he left the room). When the shorter man comes over, he doesn't even say hello – they never really do greet between themselves, if Wonwoo thinks closely about it – but he does offer the brunet a sip of his Monster Ultra Sunrise.  
  
“I'll pass, thanks. Nice cut-and-dye,” Wonwoo says, and Jihoon shrugs, taking another sip.  
  
“Thanks. I wanted something new. You met Mingyu yet?”  
  
“No, I just got here. I've only talked to Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Minghao, and you. You should introduce us, though.” Wonwoo says, and Jihoon waves a guy in a black jacket and a white tee over to them. He's definitely somewhere near two meters tall, and the brunet looks the dark haired man up and down. He looks cheerful, and he's clearly Jihoon's type. There's no way around it. He looks like he's Wonwoo's type too, since he and Jihoon have similar flavors in terms of aesthetic interest. Internally, he finds himself wondering if Mingyu has an eligible brother.  
  
“Hey! I'm Mingyu,” the tallest of the three says, offering a hand to be shaken. “I'm Jihoon's boyfriend. What do you do?”  
  
The bespectacled man takes it, a small smile playing on his lips. “Name's Wonwoo. I'm Jihoon's platonic partner, and when I'm not doing my podcast The Story of You, I'm probably working on my articles for Prism Mag. You?”  
  
“Oh, I'm one of those small business owners you hear about all the time. Jeonghan and I are trying to start something up; we've been working on it since we quit the modeling business to chase some dreams. Stability's nice and all, but... Minghao says that, since I'm an Aries, it makes sense that I want to try new things, but if you ask me, I have no clue what being an Aries actually entails.” Mingyu says with a smile and a shrug.  
  
Jihoon takes a sip of his Monster again, glancing at them with tired (but pleased) eyes, and chips in, “Glad my special people could meet each other. Mingyu, get cozy with Wonwoo – you two are going to be dealing with each other for what the Internet would call 'a minute'.”  
  
Mingyu laughs, and he claps his hand on Wonwoo's shoulder as Jihoon wanders toward the bathroom (serves him right for fucking over his own sleeping patterns). “It's really nice to meet you. I'm so glad you decided to come to the party. Spotted anyone you haven't met yet?”  
  
Wonwoo thinks back to the chat, and then he says, “I'm not sure if I've spotted them quite yet, but I know I'm not familiar with Kwani, Noni, and Shua.”  
  
Mingyu glances around the room, and then he says, “Well, Kwani and Noni aren't here yet, but let me introduce you to Shua.” He grabs Wonwoo's wrist, leading him out of the living room and into the bedroom. As they walk, the brunet settles on the idea that he likes Jihoon's boyfriend. He seems nice, and what little he's seen of Mingyu's puppy-like personality fits well with the man Wonwoo's known for what feels like ages.  
  
When they arrive in the tall man's bedroom (which is amazingly clean), there's a game of What Do You Meme? in full swing on the floor. Everyone looks up all at once, and quickly, Wonwoo sees Chan and Jun leaning on each other, and Seokmin's sitting next to with a very familiar person with full lips and catlike eyes. Quickly, connections are made, and he realizes that he's seen Shua before at the Prism Magazine headquarters, where he turns his articles in to Seokmin for review and publishing.  
  
“Everyone,” Mingyu says, dropping Wonwoo's wrist to point at the brunet standing beside him in the doorway, “I'm sorry to interrupt your game, but Wonwoo's here!”  
  
The players look up at him, and Chan (who totally got high before coming here whether his boyfriend was okay with it or not, given the easy look on his face) snaps a peace sign as Jun smiles.   
  
Seokmin says hello, cheerful as always, and Shua says brightly, “We've met! Not directly, but you come around Prism Magazine's headquarters often. I'm one of the editors; you might have seen me around?”  
  
Aha, so they're coworkers, indirectly. Wonwoo smiles, and he nods. “I have, I just didn't know you by name. It's nice to meet you, and it's nice to see everyone else too, but I won't keep you  
from your game.” He figures they can talk later, since Jun's getting a little fidgety because they're midway through a round, and he and Mingyu find their way back down the hall as the doorbell rings.  
  
“Got it!” Mingyu yells, and Jeonghan, who had poked his head out of the kitchen, gives him an okay sign. Throwing the door open after peeking through the peephole, Mingyu welcomes in two more people, completing the 13 members he'd seen in the Radio Hell Party server.  
  
The one of them with their hood up slips into the bathroom the very second Jihoon steps out, and the other, sporting a head of dirty blond hair, soft cheeks, and a winning smile, introduces himself as Seungkwan. He's chatty and lively, but not in an alienating way, and after hugging Mingyu and popping into the bedroom to say hey to everyone, he heads, quite eagerly, into the thick of things in the living room, where Jeonghan and Soonyoung have joined Seungcheol and Jihoon in drinks and uproarious laughter as Minghao tells a story about something that had happened to them earlier that day.  
  
“So that's about everyone! You'll meet Vernon – Noni – pretty soon, but for now, make yourself at home. Snacks are in the kitchen, so don't hesitate to open the fridge, and you're welcome to the TV and the Playstation in the room, if that's what you're into. I'm gonna go arm-wrestle a story out of Kwani, but yeah, anything you need, don't hesitate to come ask.”  
  
With that, Wonwoo is alone in the hall. He doesn't even have time to consider what he wants to do – his body speaks for him, telling him he's hungry, so he wanders into the kitchen. The counter's got at least 15 Tupperware containers on it, and there's a bottle of red wine as well. The rest of the alcohol is, presumably, in the refrigerator, so he opens it, and sure enough, there's chilled white wine, some beer, and a six pack of hard soda. Helping himself to one of those sodas (given that he's never actually tasted alcoholic grape soda), he moves to the snacks to inspect them and take something that looks safe.  
  
Behind him, there's the sound of steps. He doesn't turn around, instead lifting the lid on something mysterious and finding himself pleasantly surprised when he discovers it's chocolate-dipped fruit. Helping himself to a few pieces, he pops them into his mouth and opens up his drink to wash it all down.  
  
“I don't think we've met,” says a voice behind Wonwoo, and it sounds a little like the person's smiling. What does a smile even sound like? He's not all that sure, but he thinks that if amusement has a tone, this person's voice is what it would be.  
  
His first thought upon turning around is that the person leaning on the counter with their hands in their pockets is dressed like a stereotypical lesbian. He knows that's probably not a good thing to think, so he tries to shake the thought, but as he takes in the other's tousled blond hair (with the dark roots growing in) and frayed white sweater (with a red flannel overshirt), it's hard to unsee it. When the brunet's eyes wander up to the other person's (very, very lovely) face, sure enough, he sees a smile.  
  
“Hi. I'm Vernon.”  
  
“Wonwoo. Nice to meet you.”  
  
And it is very nice to meet Vernon. It's very nice to hear Vernon's voice (comforting and safe, like all the beautiful places Wonwoo has been dying to forget), it's very nice to look at Vernon's face (which manages to have more structure than Wonwoo's whole-ass life ), it's very nice to meet Vernon's eyes (suspended in some strange place like honey and like gold and like rich earth) and it's very nice to stop being a headass and staring at the earth-shakingly handsome person in front of him and make conversation instead.  
  
Before he can force any small talk out to try and get a conversation going, Vernon moves closer, coming up beside him to take the bag of Doritos and dump some on a paper plate. Looking at Wonwoo, Vernon smiles a little again and says, “So can I get your pronouns?”  
  
“Masculine. You?”  
  
“Neutral to masculine.”  
  
Unfazed by both the question and the answer, Wonwoo nods and commits Vernon to memory as one of the three genderqueer people he knows alongside Minghao and Jun.  
  
“Sorry if that confuses you or anything, but it-” Vernon says after they've been silent a few moments, but the brunet quickly cuts him off with, “It's fine, I promise. Agender or genderfluid?”  
  
“Non-binary.” Vernon murmurs, licking weird orange dust off their fingers.  
  
That's the kind of thing that's eye-catching, and watching it, even if it's only for a few seconds, puts a weird little stutter in Wonwoo's breath. He's not sure what's happening, but he is a grown man. He is capable of talking without making a fool of himself.  
  
...Probably.  
  
Playing this one safe, he raises his drink to Vernon slightly, and then nods when the other smiles again. Finding his way out of the kitchen, grip nearly white-knuckles on his hard soda, he joins in on the next game of What Do You Meme? and tries to forget the way the faded blond's smile branded itself into his memory.  
  
He fails immediately.


	4. Chapter 4

The party ends after some more drinking and a lot of laughter. Wonwoo's not sure what time it is (it's probably close to 11 PM), but all the snacks are gone, Chan's not high anymore, and Mingyu is banishing everyone, even Jihoon, because he's got to sleep so he can make it to an appointment in the morning. Jeonghan bows out at that point too, because he's gotta meet up with Mingyu near noon. He lives in Brooklyn, though, so he has to leave now to get some decent beauty sleep. Leave it to Jeonghan to ditch a party to go to bed.  
  
So now there are eleven of them, all standing in a loose circle in front of the building, throwing around ideas as to how they can keep the party going for a while longer. Going to another person's house is an idea, but it's kind of late for partying in someone's place without getting them in trouble with their neighbors, so they rule that one out.  
  
“I think we should get food,” Chan supplies (despite tearing through a good share of the food at Mingyu's, because even if no one says anything, everyone knows he has the munchies), but his suggestion is steamrolled over by Jun herself, who covers his mouth and says brightly, “I think we should hit up that club near Jihoon's building.” Chan shoots Jun what's supposed to be a dirty look (but doesn't make the cut) and licks her hand, but she wipes it on his faded band tee as Soonyoung picks up the thread of her idea.  
  
“Yo, I'm on board! I've heard it's lit as fuck in there! But how do we get in? I mean, we're gonna have to get passes somehow.” The dancer says, running a hand through his deep purple hair. Wonwoo takes this as his cue, because now everyone's patting their pockets for wallets and money, and he nudges Jihoon in the ribs. The producer looks up at Wonwoo, brows arched, and a conversation passes between them in a few moments with their eyes alone.  
  
Jihoon's eyes flick over to look at Joshua, who's caught up in laughs because Seungcheol's tossing Chan's wallet with Seokmin to keep it away from him, but Wonwoo bites his lip and glances, instead, at Vernon, who's comparing something on their phone to something on Minghao's. The producer nods almost imperceptibly, and then he turns back to the circle and whistles.  
  
“We'll get in on my ticket.” Jihoon says when everyone settles down and Chan's wallet is returned. That brings a cheer through them all, as well as a piercing yell of yee-haw from Soonyoung and celebratory dabs from Minghao and Vernon. After that, they break into two groups and assign designated drivers.  
  
Jihoon and Soonyoung are the only ones that haven't had anything to drink, and the violet-haired man is more than happy to drive as long as he can get on the dance floor of the club they're planning to visit. Jihoon nudges Wonwoo back at that point – he's going to want a favor back for this. All that aside, though, they all toss the keys to those who'd brought their vehicles (so that means Cheol, Wonwoo, and Seungkwan, since Jeonghan's gone now and Jihoon brought a motorcycle) into Seokmin's beanie, shake them around, and have the drivers pick. Soonyoung draws out the key to Wonwoo's Optima, and Jihoon gets Seungcheol's Cayenne.  
  
At that point, they disperse, six (Jihoon, Seungcheol, Minghao, Chan, Jun, and Seokmin) to the Cayenne and five (Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Vernon, Seungkwan, and Joshua) to the Optima, and they put their trust in Jihoon to lead them over into Manhattan to get to the club.  
  
There isn't much traffic around the Bronx as they leave Mingyu's part of town, and conversation starts easily between everyone in the Kia as Seungkwan, in the passenger's seat, puts his Spotify on the aux cord. They get the EZ-Pass out and put it on the dash, since there’s a toll along the way, and all the passengers settle in. Soonyoung’s a surprisingly smooth driver, much less erratical than what he’d expected, given the bright-haired man’s personality. Vernon, seated in the middle of the backseat, leans into the middle space to ask Soonyoung, “What club are we going to? I'm not really up on the scene lately.”  
  
Joshua smiles at Vernon's antics, and grabs them by the back of their flannel shirt to sit them down again as Seungkwan's music kicks in. It's something cute and melodic, sung by a girl band he feels like he's heard before.  
  
“We're going to Protostar! It's got a huge floor, a rad bar for the drinking types, and this amazing VIP section! I've been dying to go after seeing the pictures and the live off Minghao's Insta.” Soonyoung says, voice practically vibrating with excitement. Vernon and Seungkwan are just as eager, and Wonwoo's not even thinking about himself until Joshua asks, “How about you, Wonwoo? You excited?”  
  
“Um,” Wonwoo begins, somewhat embarrassed, “I guess? I've been to some of Soonyoung's classes with Jun, but I've never... been to a dance club in my life.”  
  
-  
  
The line to get into Protostar is about half a city block long. As they pull up to the curb and get out of the car (after Seungkwan stows the EZPass back in the glove box), Wonwoo can feel the faint pound of a beat, and while it's enticing on some level, he's a little worried about leaving his car there. He catches up with Soonyoung, and, after being assured that there's a valet by the others, he relinquishes his keys and takes the ticket that the man at the podium hands him to hang onto. Without it, they can't leave, so everyone in the Kia unanimously agrees that Wonwoo should be the one to keep track of it.  
  
They don't have to wait in line for a second, though, and are escorted into the VIP area right away as soon as Jihoon verifies who he is. Wonwoo finds out from Seokmin as they head up the staircase to the cordoned off section that the people that own the club have been trying to get Woozi and his entourage to come in since the place opened, which is exactly why the producer had been confident they'd get in without having to wait.  
  
The upper area of the club is much less crowded, and the dance floor is spacious and populated only by people who are actually there to dance and not just dry hump, like the people Minghao points out when they pass the railing looking down at the main area. That area's packed with people in clubbing type clothes, in those short dancing dresses and fitted pants, and Wonwoo knows for a fact that that's not his kind of place. He sticks close to Minghao for the moment, since they make for the table, and from what he'd heard from Soonyoung, the slim Chinese dancer's been here before.  
  
“Hao,” Wonwoo murmurs, watching half of their group move onto the dance floor. Joshua's at the bar with Seungcheol, holding his hand, but if Minghao (who he's extremely confident is datemates with Cheol) notices, he doesn't pay it too much mind. “Do you club often?”  
  
“Yeah, Cheol and I come around,” Minghao says, looking at the bar. “I can't say I'm much of a clubber, but I always come along Someone’s gotta drive! Shua drinks with Cheol, and then we all go home and cuddle up.” Wonwoo's brows knit, and Minghao smiles at him when he sees the brunet's expression and pats his shoulder.  
  
“Wait, you're poly?”  
  
“Josh is Cheol’s steady boyfriend, and I just started dating him too. He’s really sweet..” Minghao murmurs, smiling warmly as they watch Seungcheol put a sloppy kiss on Joshua's cheek. Wonwoo realizes that, since he's been avoiding the friend group because of the Jeonghan incident, he's been massively out of the loop, enough that he hadn't known that it had expanded to include more people until he'd joined the Discord server and gone to the party. Glancing around for the other members of the group, he sees Jun and Chan dancing up close, eyes closed and obviously feeling the music, and he spots Jihoon busting some moves, surrounded by some of the other club patrons, as well as Soonyoung and Vernon, who are hyping him up. Seungkwan and Seokmin are getting very cozy in a corner by the railing, and Wonwoo turns to Minghao and puts his chin in his hand.  
  
“I'm out of touch with basically everyone except Jihoon and Jun. I'm sorry for being a headass and missing so much.”  
  
Minghao smiles, throwing their arm around Wonwoo, and pulls him in close. “I missed you, you over-emotional Cancer. Let me fill you in.”  
  
-  
  
The dancer is, Wonwoo rapidly finds out, just one of the friends making themselves a reputation in the city. Last he'd checked in with Minghao (which is to say, prior to the Jeonghan Incident), they'd just carved themselves a place in the fashion community. Now, their astrology interest had gained them fame, their art had ended up in a gallery, and they had two boyfriends. Mingyu, Jihoon's man, had quit his job and talked Jeonghan into quitting with him, Seungcheol had just dropped a new mixtape, Seokmin had earned recognition on social media for his job as Prism Magazine. Soonyoung had gotten into new types of dance (pole dancing and tango, in particular), Chan had tried out rapping, and of course, Vernon, Seungkwan, and Joshua had joined the friend group.  
  
A long while passes like that, consumed by their conversation, but when Wonwoo checks the time it's just shy of 2:00 AM. It looks like the real party's starting now, because Soonyoung and Jihoon are hunched over their phones at a table, yelling at each other for what feels like no sensible reason and probably has no serious bearing on their relationship as friends, Seungcheol and Joshua come to steal Minghao away to the dance floor, and Vernon, blessed Vernon, sits down beside Wonwoo and leans close to say over the music (making the brunet thank whomever turned that shit up), “Wild party, huh?”  
  
He was celebrating just seconds ago, but now it's different/ There's alcohol on Vernon's breath, definitely noticeable, and if they weren't so close, he wouldn't be able to tell. But he can tell. The blond is drunk, but... there's something else. He can't place it, but it’s reminiscent of... Wonwoo shakes his head, putting that train of thought from his mind, and he focuses instead on talking.  
  
“Yeah,” Wonwoo finally says, running a hand through his hair, “it's pretty wild, given what's usual for me.”  
  
Vernon tilts their head, and their eyes, pupils just pinpricks among the irises in the shining club lights, give him the vibe that they're looking into his soul somehow. Wonwoo remembers, just as an aside, that Minghao had mentioned both Seokmin and Vernon's astrology is very unique. He can't remember how, and he doesn't actually believe in any of that bullshit (sorry, Hao), but _oh, God,_ he can agree on the blond person being unique.  
  
But that doesn't mean Vernon's not drunk. That doesn't mean that Wonwoo's not, on some visceral level, scared of what they'll do.  
  
“What,” Vernon murmurs when there's a lull in the music, seemingly not realizing that they're in his space, “is usual for you? If you don't mind sharing.”  
  
“Usually, I just read. I go to bed, maybe... watch a movie there. But I'm trying to change that. A little at a time. I've... I dunno. I've been lonely.” The brunet says softly as Vernon uses two of their fingers to press up on the bridge of Wonwoo's glasses.  
  
Why is he telling Vernon this? Wonwoo feels like he can't lie. Their concern feels pure and genuine, and as they gaze at him for a long moment, he feels like he can sense that between them. Neither of them wavers. He hopes that he's not imagining the connection he feels, the raw good he senses off the other – he hopes it's not just his brain trying to project his interest in Vernon as it being the other way around and Vernon having an interest in him.  
  
Already, he's overthinking this. He's reading way too far into it! Vernon is not into him, he is imagining shit, and they're just trying to be his friend!  
  
This! Is! Some! Good! Friendship! Content!  
  
And then in an instant, Vernon's rushing forward. Instinctively, Wonwoo leans back, because he has a feeling somewhere in him that something's about to fucking happen, but he's not fast enough, and then their lips are crushed on his for just a second.  
  
This, despite being along the lines of what he wanted, is reminiscent of the past in ways that hurt too much. Reeling, Wonwoo tries to somehow organize his perspective, to set his feelings right-side-up and stop fear from seeping into him, but it doesn't work. He doesn't move, doesn't even breathe, and Vernon begins to pull away before Wonwoo can unfreeze his brain cells enough to get his arms to react and push them away. It's not anything transcendental, that kiss, and it's not as if Wonwoo suddenly falls through the floor into fire and brimstone or whatever, but it is scary, and his breath is unsteady when they separate.  
  
“I don't know why I did that,” Vernon says with a laugh, running a hand through their hair as they sit up straight, eyes a little wide, and Wonwoo responds, too calm on the outside to show the fact that he is absolutely terrified on the inside, “It's okay.” Stiffly, he releases his grip on his own pants leg, and as they gaze, shaken by the strangeness of that moment, at each other in silence, the brunet decides that's enough excitement for the night.  
  
He gets up from the table, leaving the drunk Vernon sitting there staring blankly after him, and walks with intention to anywhere that is as far away from that moment as he can get.  
  
After what feels like an eternity, Wonwoo manages to corner Jihoon near the bar on his way back from the toilet for what seems like the 14th time. He is very obviously still feeling that Ultra Sunrise, given that he's started toting around a bottle of water now.  
  
“I need to go home.”  
  
“Sleepy? I can get you something for that.” Jihoon says, glancing at the bar, and Wonwoo shakes his head quickly enough that it wakes a dull ache in his skull. Glancing at Vernon, who's still sitting at the table (and has been joined by Chan and Jun, who seem like they've gotten tired of dancing), he says, “Listen, Jihoon, they kissed me. Vernon did, I mean. They're drunk. I need to go. Right now. Immediately.”  
  
In the pulsing lights of the club, Wonwoo can see Jihoon's jaw flex. “Do you need an Uber or can you wait?”  
  
“Call me an Uber.” Wonwoo says immediately. Fuck the car. Fuck his reputation in the friend group. He can fix that later, but in that moment, he needs space. Passing over the valet ticket, he takes deep breaths as Jihoon assures him that he'll trade keys with Soonyoung and keep the Optima parked by his building until Wonwoo can come and get it. The brunet leaves everything that isn't on his person in Jihoon's care, and leaves the instant his ride is there to carry him away.

In the Uber on the way back to the Bronx, the brunet picks meticulously at the lint on the sleeve of his blue wool sweater as if that's somehow the most pressing concern in his life. He doesn't feel like thinking about how Vernon kissed him, or how his feelings had flipped like a switch based on that single action. He doesn't want to think about what that kiss reminded him of (and how it scared him down to his bones). Thankfully, the driver makes no real effort to talk to him, instead just playing some relaxing music. She probably figures Wonwoo is drunk, and he'll take that over weird small talk any day.  
  
He doesn't check his phone until he gets inside his apartment building, where finds a handful of messages from Jihoon.  
  
**#1 Lucio Main:**  
 _Text me back when you get home so i know ur safe_  
 _Also i got another message from bhk_  
 _I dont know whats going on bc he doesnt want to tell me_  
 _But he says its an emergency and he needs to talk to you_  
 _I asked if it could wait for morning but he said no_  
 _I know ur stressed but something important must be happening if he wants me to bother u when he thinks ur sleeping_  
 **Wonton:**  
 _thanks, jihoon._  
 _i'll talk to him._  
 **#1 Lucio Main:**  
 _Post me_  
 **Wonton:**  
 _will do._

Wonwoo decides he should probably sit down before addressing this emergency. Taking off his shoes and socks, he leaves his Converse in the basket and drops the socks off in his hamper on his way to curl up in the bed with his phone.  
  
Pulling up Facebook, he logs in, and types a name in Hangul into the search bar.

Unblocking him, Wonwoo bites his lip, and then he writes a message.  
  
**Jeon Wonwoo:**  
 _i heard there was an emergency. what's happening?_  
  
The three dots of a message being written dance before him, and an unfinished sentence pops up on the screen. This kid writes like Soonyoung does, all broken up.  
  
**Jeon Bohyuk:**  
 _hyung_  
 _isn't it something like_  
 _04:00_  
 _in new york right now_  
 _i'm sorry to have had to ask jihoon_  
 _i know you don't like it when i talk to jihoon_  
 _anyway_  
 _thanks for being fast_  
 _it's about dad_  
 **Jeon Wonwoo:**  
 _it's not really relevant what time it is, or whether or not you got into contact with jihoon._  
 _hell itself could threaten me and i wouldn't talk to dad._  
 _the old man wanting to talk now isn't going to change that._  
 **Jeon Bohyuk:**  
 _wonwoo-hyung_  
 _listen to me_  
 _he doesn't wanna talk_  
 _he's dead_  
  
That is not the kind of news Wonwoo expected. For some reason, his brain had sort of assumed that the coldness between him and his father would never fade simply because he'd never even considered the man could die. It's surreal, and he keeps reading Bohyuk's message over and over again. It feels liike some kind of sick joke.  
  
**Jeon Wonwoo:**  
 _jeonbuk, what do you mean he's dead?_  
 **Jeon Bohyuk:**  
 _what i mean_  
 _is that_  
 _he is dead_  
 _he had an accident_  
 _in his car_  
 _last thursday_  
 _he rolled on an overpass_  
 _i guess that was wednesday for you_  
 _now he's in bad shape_  
 _they had to revive him and all_  
 _but his brain isn't firing right_  
 _he's not gonna wake up_  
 _he's on life support_  
 _i tried to touch base when i first knew_  
 _mom asked me to ask you_  
 _this time more insistently_  
 _because she wants to know_  
 _what you think we should do_  
 _and if you have anything to say_  
 _to him_  
  
Wonwoo has everything in the damn world to say, but if the old man is dead, there's no way he can say any of it. So, biting his lip, he writes back slowly, tears welling up in his eyes. Even if the man put him, Jeonbuk, and his mom through hell, Wonwoo isn't that cruel. He's not so horrible as to want to prolong the suffering of his beloved mother. So he takes a breath through his teeth, and he writes the message before he can change his mind.  
  
**Jeon Wonwoo:**  
 _disconnect him._  
 _don't make our mother suffer watching him._  
 _even if she couldn't stop what he did, i love her._  
  
Despite the hurt in his body, and the soured relationship between him and his father, part of him longs for the opportunity, now lost, to patch their connection. The story between them is now over, and with this death, a long-open chapter in the Jeon family story comes to an abrupt close.  
  
Wonwoo feels strangely numb even as tears run hot down his cheeks, and when Bohyuk responds, assenting to Wonwoo’s decision, he calls Jihoon.  
  
“Hello?” comes his platonic partner's voice against the backdrop of music. When the volume drops, it's clear Jihoon's at home, working the studio. There's silence between them for a moment, and then Wonwoo takes a shuddering breath before choking out a sob.  
  
Jihoon doesn't even know why Wonwoo is crying, but the sound quality changes, presumably as the producer switches to a headset. There's movement on the other end, and Jihoon says, assuring the sobbing brunet, “I'm going over there. I'm taking your car, okay? I'm gonna pick up some stuff, but I want you to stay on the line. Let it out. I'm here.”


	5. the firebird's flicker

Jihoon's like a light in Wonwoo's dark, only hanging up the phone when's about to get inside the building. He's arrived not even an hour later in the Optima, and Wonwoo, still unsteady from crying, buzzes him in and waits in the doorway for him. When the dark-haired man arrives, he barges his way into Wonwoo's apartment with his backpack on, immediately taking control of the situation. He shuts the door, quickly ditching his overpriced Gucci sandals in the basket, and then puts his hands firmly on the brunet's waist and guides him back to his bedroom.  
  
“Get your pajamas on,” Jihoon commands, setting his backpack on Wonwoo's desk after shelving the brunet's laptop. Unzipping the backpack, he gets some stuff out, checking over his shoulder every so often to make sure Wonwoo's actually changing.  
  
Stripping down to his underwear obediently, he puts on his pajama pants and sits on the edge of the bed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands as Jihoon, hanging his jacket over the back of the desk chair, turns to look at him.  
  
“Have you talked to your mother?”  
  
Wonwoo shakes his head. “Only to Jeonbuk. I can't talk to my mother right now.”  
  
Jihoon sits beside him, rubbing his thigh, and says, “I get it. But even if it was for bad news, I'm so proud of you reaching out to Bohyuk. I'm sorry for your loss, because I know... I know you two had baggage, you and your dad, but at least you have a chance now, to reconnect with Bohyuk and with your mom.”  
  
-  
  
They're up until after sunrise, even if Bohyuk doesn't message again except to tell Wonwoo at nearly 6AM that the deed is done and that they're heading home for the moment to organize for the funeral. He says he'll be in touch, Wonwoo says okay, and that's that.  
  
Jihoon's all fucked up on energy drinks, and Wonwoo's drug of choice is grief, so since they're going to be up anyway, Jihoon walks Wonwoo through some responsibilities. The world doesn't stop just because he's caught up in his weird emotions, and they can both agree that they don't want Wonwoo's life to fall apart.  
  
Sunday is recording day, but Wonwoo's script is only half-done. He could finish it – hell, he could even write a new one if he wanted to, with all the feelings tumbling around in him – but Jihoon discourages it. The Story of You has been running for 45 weeks, a new episode coming up every Monday and Thursday, so instead of recording Episode 91, they stop at 90 for a break. Jihoon walks Wonwoo through posting an announcement on the podcast's section of the Woozi's Room website. Jihoon logs in after Wonwoo's done posting it and changes some things in the code on The Story of You official page, marking the podcast as on break. While he does that, Wonwoo emails Seokmin, explaining the situation as simply as hie can, asking when they can talk about increasing his workload. Since his podcast's tips are probably going to be a little dry, it's a good move to make sure he can cover his income and pay his rent. Responsibility is a welcome distraction from emotion.  
  
After that, they just linger in Wonwoo's bed, sad Korean music on low and his glasses on the nightstand. Jihoon's on his phone, one hand resting on Wonwoo's shoulder, browsing Twitter with the brunet's head on his chest. They don't talk, but they stay cuddled close, because Wonwoo needs the contact.  
  
A dull burn overtakes Wonwoo's aching eyes. He's emotionally and physically exhausted, even if there's still a shitpile of feelings inside him that he needs to work through, so he murmurs a soft 'good morning', and, as Jihoon's fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, Wonwoo lets himself succumb to one of the most basic human needs: sleep.  
  
-  
  
Wonwoo is reawakened by the ringing of his cell phone. Groaning, he sits up, Jihoon's arms slipping off his body as he pats the nightstand for his glasses. Putting them on, he takes his phone from where its insistent vibration has knocked it off the table onto the area rug surrounding the bed. Squinting against the brightness of the display, Wonwoo looks at the screen. Since he's already missed the call, he's faced with the time: it's 4 in the afternoon. He has a couple of missed calls, some text messages, and a whole host of Discord notifications. He'd slept deeply enough to not notice the racket of buzzes and beeps from the device (which had been muffled, after a point, by the soft pile of the rug), and Jihoon simply had the willpower to go back to sleep in spite of it – in fact, he was only just responding, and knowing him, it was only because Wonwoo was moving too much for his liking in the bed.  
  
“Who is it?” Jihoon groans, burrowing further under the blankets against the light coming in through the space between the curtains.  
  
“The last call was Seokmin.”  
  
“It's early! Why is he calling you at this hour?”  
  
Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “It's 4 in the afternoon, Jihoon. Seokmin's been trying to get in touch with me since morning, it looks like.” Rubbing a hand over his face, he gets out of bed as Jihoon takes his phone from under the pillows asks Siri, in Korean, to call Mingyu. The conversation between the producer and his boyfriend is on speaker, though, so Wonwoo makes his way into the kitchen to call Seokmin back and put on some coffee. He's not really in the right frame of mind to listen to Mingyu be cheerful and Jihoon be romantic, anyway, so it's a good enough excuse.  
  
The phone rings just a few times before Seokmin answers.  
  
“Prism Magazine, editor in chief Seokmin Lee speaking!”  
  
“Do you say that every time, Seokmin? Seems like a mouthful.” Wonwoo says, arching a brow as he pops in a plain black coffee K-cup in the machine for Jihoon. Seokmin thinks a moment, and then he says, “Every single one. That aside, I got your email. I'm really sorry for your loss. I'd be happy to try my best to accommodate you in your grief, especially if you're also pausing your podcast... There are a few ways you could pick up your hours... I'd actually been meaning to offer this to you when the June issue went to print tomorrow, but now's a good a time as any. I'm looking for August's centerpiece. Interested?”  
  
“You want me to do the main story?”  
  
“You're a good writer! Your articles get a lot of comments when you put them online, and since there isn't a topic assignment, I think you could really put this work toward something you care about,” Seokmin says, and Wonwoo can hear the urgent tapping of a keyboard as they talk. The editor must be at his desk, because, after that, he can hear things being moved.  
  
“Hold on a sec,” Seokmin says apologetically, and after hearing a rustle, Wonwoo hears a muffled yell, as if the receiver is pressed against Seokmin's hand or shirt. “Joshua, I need the August plan in my inbox! What? Yes! I gave my printed copy to Jooheon and he hasn't given it back yet!”  
  
Patiently waiting for the editor to get his shit together, Wonwoo walks into his bedroom, where Jihoon's standing in a towel with his back to the door in the low light. It looks like he'd helped himself to the shower while Wonwoo's been on the line with Seokmin, and now he has his phone up to his ear and is speaking to someone in a decidedly different tone than what he was using with Mingyu. He hisses in the dark to get Jihoon's attention, and when the other looks over his shoulder, Wonwoo hands over the coffee.  
  
Jihoon nods gratefully, raising his mug to Wonwoo, and he takes a sip before responding to whomever's on the line (in what the brunet is very sure is Spanish) with a sour tone.  
  
“Still there?” Seokmin asks all of a sudden, and as he walks out of his bedroom, Wonwoo responds, “Still here.”  
  
“Good! Sorry to make you wait. I keep forgetting to reprint copies of things after I loan them out, since they just never get returned to me.” Seokmin says, and Wonwoo hears more typing. “I'm pulling up the August plan now, and we've got a solid 10-20 pages open for that month's centerpiece. It's flexible, depending on how much you want to do and whether or not you have images or it's just a solid read. If you take the August center, I will need it earlier than your usual due date, though.”  
  
Wonwoo, back in the kitchen now, puts a mug of water in the microwave and peers into the cabinet for his herbal tea mixtures. “How early?”  
  
“On or before the 19th of July, images and all. Needs to be at least 10 pages, can't exceed 20. Good way to gauge how much you have is to have the font set to Arial, 14-point. That's not the the size it goes to print in, but it's as close as we're going to get without the margins, title page, or side notes factored in. Check-ins are due whenever you feel you have enough content to share, but you need to have three to five check-ins and two rounds of edits before it's good to go.” Seokmin pauses for a moment, mumbling something as if he's reading to himself, and then he continues, “If you're looking to do more, this'll run alongside your typical assignments..”  
  
Chewing his lip as he fetches the creamer out of the fridge, Wonwoo thinks that this sounds doable. He doesn't know what he'll write about, but he has a good while to sort it all out and put out something that'll be perfect for Prism. He's never written anything major like that, let alone for a queer magazine that grew into what it was from a popular blog, but he's confident in his abilities. Paired with a break from his podcast, this seems like a great way to relax a little bit and still get his rent paid. He's also fully capable of handling his regular assignments, since he's already blocked them out in his routine.  
  
“I'll keep them and I'll take the August center,” Wonwoo says, and he can practically hear Seokmin grinning as he responds, “Alright, then I'll jot you down for it and send you the criteria in a PDF so that you don't forget. Log your hours the same way you always do, since you work mostly from home – you'll get paid for all your work, in progress or not, when time's all summed up on the 29th of each month.”  
  
“Sounds good. Thanks a lot, Seokmin.”  
  
The call is over just in time for Wonwoo to take his coffee. As he sips, he checks his savings account. If needed, he can dip into it, but he's pretty sure he'll be fine. After all, he's never spent everything he leaves in checking anyway, so all that spare change here and there had piled up. There was cash in the apartment too, hidden in a place most thieves wouldn't think to look. For now, he has free time to sort out his emotions in relative financial comfort.

Jihoon eventually leaves, saying he's got a date with Mingyu and he really can't miss it because they made the reservations several weeks beforehand, so Wonwoo doesn't even try keep him, and instead lays around with Ghost Adventures on the TV in the living room. He's supremely low energy, more so than he has been in what's something like years, with no desire to move or even eat, so he tears through all of season 15's Vicksburg specials before he even checks his phone again, fishing it out from where he threw it on the sofa when he sprawled out.  
  
Radio Hell Party is active, crowding his notifications, and even if the last thing he wants to do is talk, he opens up his Discord to mute the server for a while and dispel the annoying red bubble announcing that he's missed 1,237 messages. The conversation, in the few moments he is in the chat, keeps on racing past at a quick place.  
  
**Sooni:**  
 _ive been hella sick lately_  
 _idk whats up_  
 _but im so sore_  
 _usually im not in this much pain_  
 _competition is coming for my intermediates tho_  
 _i dont wanna miss it_  
 _but i mean_  
 **Cheol:**  
 _hs can u just write one DAMN BLOCK OF TEXT FOR ONCE IN UR LIFE_  
 **Sooni:**  
 _jun can take the kids_  
 _if i really am out sick_  
 **Shua:**  
 _I think it's time to issue the Soonyoung Type Full Sentences Challenge._  
 **Hani:**  
 _<.< challenge failed!_  
 **Sooni:**  
 _dont drag me like this_  
 _this is discrimination_  
 _fucking homophobia_  
 **Hani:**  
 _we're roommates! if i don't call you out, who's going to?_  
 **Sooni:**  
 _oh_  
 _lmao_  
 _i see how it is yoon jeonghan_  
  
Sighing, he closes Discord after muting Radio Hell Party, and opens up Instagram. He only has one to keep up with his friend group - after all, social media stalking (can it really be called stalking if they ask you to follow them?) is a great way to watch who’s doing what.

On Instagram, he always starts with Minghao, over on **@xuminghao_o** , and looks through the pictures they’ve posted. The party at Mingyu’s was just the day before, but already, those posts are 15 pictures under whatever Minghao’s been doing all day. It looks like he’s been working on some clothing projects, given the aesthetic photos of fabric, pincushions (where the hell does one get a pincushion that looks like a fucking Rolex?), and their fancy mannequins, but that’s not what Wonwoo wants to see. He wants to see the photos from the party, after all.  
  
Picking through each post without accidentally liking it is a matter of caution and patience. Wonwoo might very well have a fucking crisis if Minghao knew what he was up to, because he has the weirdest nagging feeling that the Chinese person just knows everything.  
  
Among the posts from the party are pictures with Seungcheol, looking fashionable on Mingyu’s vibrant red couch, photos with someone that’s obviously Jihoon with both their faces out of frame, and a picture of the game of _What Do You Meme?_. He’s tagged in that one, legs tucked up under him in the photo and head down as he concentrates on his cards.  
  
That’s still not what he wants, so he works through the photos a little more, and then finally, he finds a picture that Jun, Chan, and Minghao took when they were in the nightclub. Ever faithful to the principle of tagging, Minghao’s tagged the blond in the photo, so now Wonwoo has new places to look.  
  
**@moonjunnie** _currently: {male} ;; settle down! life is long! ;; makeup artist, model, lover of cute_  
  
Jun's profile is full of selfies. Every time he puts makeup on, he takes a picture of his latest look and posts it; every time he tries a product, he makes a video. His 11,000 followers are faithful watchers, and Wonwoo himself finds his friend's ability with a brush extremely impressive. However, even if Jun's beautiful, there isn't any of what he wants to see on the artist's profile yet, so he goes back to Minghao's picture, and from there, he takes a chance on Chan.  
  
**@leechantheman** _lee chan, dancer at sync studio. personal account. for business inquiries, dm **@syncstudionyc** and ask for dino._  
  
Chan's account is loaded with videos. Since it's a personal account, the content ranges from him laughing at fruit in the supermarket and him making a review video about tape to him pointing out a police car in a clip of him walking down the street and making dinner out of a Blue Apron box with Jun. Wonwoo watches some with half-hearted interest, but then he finds what he's looking for in the caption for a three-week old video of Chan dancing in the street in the dead of night with Soonyoung.  
  
Tapping on the provided username, he shifts on the couch, interest renewed, and finds himself face-to-digital-face with Vernon's Instagram. Careful to not accidentally tap the follow button, he starts his deep perusal of their account.  
  
 **@hi_chwes** _vernon \ they/them \ stupid-ass legend \ find me on soundcloud: soundcloud.com/hi_chwes_  
  
Embarrassingly enough, Wonwoo looks through every single picture on Vernon's profile before he realizes he's spent over an hour just reading captions and taking care to not like any post, and learns more than he expected about the blond. He isn't actually sure what to do with this seemingly overwhelming knowledge, so he closes Instagram, leaving his phone on his chest, and looks at the texture of the ceiling.  
  
Before he can even really get into his own thoughts, however, his phone buzzes, and sighing, he lifts it up again to look at what's on the screen.  
  
It's a reminder he set up, probably months before then, for a appointment.

-  
  
The way into Queens the very next day for his appointment is strange, for Wonwoo.  
  
It's an 11:00, but since he's never actually been to the Queens clinic his appointment is at, he's at the station at 9:00 in the morning, standing at the platform in the June rain under a black umbrella. There's an unusual cold spell now, despite the date's nearness to the solstice. It's making the sky heavy with clouds and the weather damp and chilly again, as if spring isn't ready to cede her grip on the city to let summer step in.  
  
As he waits for the 2 train into Manhattan (where he has to switch at 42nd Street to the 7 into Queens), watching rain drip between the train tracks onto the hooded figures and umbrellas crossing the street below, he tries to get past his internalized stress regarding what he's on his way to do.  
  
He has to remind himself that he's long since become familiar with the idea that Korean culture is not always right. There are a lot of things that his culture had given him, things it had taught him, that had done him more harm than good, and this is his first step, taken by him months ago and presumably aligned by some kind of weird destiny to fall precisely now, toward actually putting that knowledge into practice.  
  
-  
  
The clinic itself is cozy, only on the second floor of the Phoenix Park Queer Health building, and he makes it with a solid fifteen minutes to spare from his appointment time. It's meant to be welcoming, but as he enters, Wonwoo is looking over his shoulders.  
  
After checking in and filling out some paperwork, it's only a matter of minutes before someone (as tall as Jihoon, as pierced [if not more] as Minghao, and as soft-seeming as Jeonghan) comes to show Wonwoo into one of the rooms.  
  
He is not expecting this person, the kind of person who looks more like a street artist than anything, to sit across from him, in what is presumably the doctor's chair, and extend a hand for a handshake.  
  
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Wonwoo. Welcome to your first session. I'm Dr. Sae, but please, just call me Junseok. He/him pronouns, please.”  
  
“...You're the doctor?” The brunet says incredulously, looking the shorter person up and down as they shake hands. Junseok, with his ponytailed blue-green hair and at least seven rings, feels far too stylish and young to be a medical professional.  
  
Junseok laughs, and says, “Listen, I ask myself that every day when I come in here. How did I become a psychologist? It sometimes doesn't feel real! But then I help people, I change lives, and I think that by the end of the day, it all makes sense. I'm so glad you're here, Wonwoo. Your name is Korean, right?”  
  
There's a pause, and then Wonwoo nods. “...Right, I was born and raised there.” He watches as the doctor takes a notebook, just a plain spiral-bound one, like he might have used for school, from a folder in his desk drawer and writes 'Jeon Wonwoo' in Hangul in the top right corner of the grey cover. He'd read in the pre-appointment paperwork that the doctor's notes would be extremely private, and that information in them would only ever come out if he were in any danger or putting anyone else in danger. Logically, he's fine with that, but at once, in himself, he's deeply stressed at the very idea. He's going to open himself up to a stranger, something he's only ever done with Jihoon.  
  
"What would you say you're here for?" Junseok asks, resting his chin in his hand, and Wonwoo immediately says, without a moment of hesitation, "My friend Jihoon made me come here. I don't want to be here, but I promised him I'd do at least one session."  
  
"I understand," the therapist says, “because being in a queer space and talking about identity and emotion, especially as a masculine individual raised in an Asian culture is really difficult. You and me both, you know? But it's okay, Wonwoo. People come to therapy to grow and change, and even if you're only booked for the foundational session, just a two-hour block of time, I'll do my best to help you as much as I can, no strings attached. You never have to come back. It's up to you how far we go. You can even leave early if you like. Does that sound okay?"  
  
There's silence for a few moments as Wonwoo tries to find anywhere to look but at Junseok, and then he notices his fingers are clutching his backpack in his lap so hard that his knuckles are white. Stiffly releasing his grip, he nods and mumbles his assent.  
  
"Thanks so much for your willingness to follow through with this, Wonwoo. Why don't we begin, then, by having you tell me, in the language you find it easiest to tell your story, as much as you're comfortable sharing with me about what's brought you here today?"  
  
Taking a deep breath, the brunet takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. He licks his lips, and he changes to his native language, sinking into it like one would a cold pool.  
  
"I turn 27 in July, but I realized I was some kind of different when I was 13 years old."


	6. that come-up type of real something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is very emotionally heavy. it contains internalized homophobia, parental homophobia, ignorant language on trans issues, brief mentions of child abuse (the individual in question is a teenager), and once again, my oc features in this chapter as the facilitator for wonwoo's therapy session.

It takes Wonwoo probably about fifteen minutes of fighting with himself to speak in something more than short, cryptic sentences, and it's because he's still trying to avoid actually talking. Junseok probably senses this, though, and quickly changes his tack, posing a question: “Who would you say has influenced you most in life?  
  
“The more I think about it, the more I realize that every major event in my life has something to do with Jihoon. Sometimes it feels like everything that happens in my life happens because... Jihoon exists around me.” Wonwoo sighs, and Junseok asks, tone steady and calm, “Would you be comfortable telling me more about Jihoon?”   
  
\-   
  
_She has long hair, black and pin-straight, and a soft-looking round face. She has monolids and pianist hands, and she's so fucking beautiful that maybe, if Wonwoo were a different person, he'd try to get over the fact that she's the strangest girl that's ever crossed his path, and most decidedly the most interesting person in his classes at school._   
  
_But no, he doesn't get over it, and no, he is not a different person._   
  
_Rather than ignore her, he feels like he has to get her to notice him, so obviously, after courses, when everyone's wandering off the campus of the middle school, he catches her storming down the street in the direction of the metro station and falls into step beside her._   
  
_"Hey," he begins (formality mostly aside because he is, after all, her oppa, right?), but he doesn't get another word in before she does a complete 180 and starts storming back in the direction of the school with a renewed rage._   
  
_Wonwoo finds himself skidding to a stop, turning around to catch her hand and pull her to a halt. She slaps his hand away without even hesitating, hellfire in her eyes, and she says, "Listen, hyung, you're not scoring a date with me. You fuck off, okay? You just fuck off."_   
  
_Yanking her wrist out of his grip, she leaves him there on the sidewalk when she rages away, staring after her swishing skirt and swishing hair, with the odd feeling that this is just the beginning of him and of her._   
  
_Weeks pass, and he can't get her off his mind._   
  
_At first, he'd nailed the 'hyung' thing as a mistake on her part, but it can't be an error. She keeps doing it, every single time they run into each other, and he's caught her stealing looks at him, ones that she disguises with glares and sneers when he happens to turn her way. He finds out from other people in the class that she's from Busan, born and raised (because she clearly doesn't hate everyone else like she hates him), so that means her Korean's native._   
  
_Ruling out the things that could justify it, he's not sure what to make of her, so he rolls up his figurative sleeves to get his hands dirty with finding out just what the fuck her deal is._   
  
_Within a few days, he's gathered up his resolve, and before she leaves the building, he manages to corner her in a stairwell. Caught in an unexpected standoff, Wonwoo looms over the dark-haired ball of hate. She barely makes it to five feet, which means Wonwoo's at least a head taller than her, but she's more than a match for him in terms of mental fortitude (if her attitude is anything to go by)._   
  
“ _What the fuck do you want?” She hisses, reaching into her pocket for something, but immediately, he puts his hands up to indicate he means no harm._   
  
_Licking his lips, he looks over his shoulder, and then, focusing on her again when he's sure they're alone, he murmurs, “Why are you calling me hyung?”_   
  
\-   
  
“It didn't really sink in how _abnormal_ I felt in terms of the feelings I had for her, until she came out and she told everyone that she wasn't a girl and never had been. So now my best friend, the one I'm already thinking of marrying because she's the only girl I've ever been into...”   
  
“Is suddenly and out of nowhere, in your perspective, a man,” Junseok responds, nodding understandingly. “I noticed you spoke of Jihoon in present tense earlier. Are you still in touch?”   
  
Wonwoo mumbles, “Yes. It's a long story, but we talk every day, sometimes by text, sometimes on the phone, usually for a long while each time we call. Should I tell you more about Jihoon, or keep going in order?”   
  
Junseok pushes a stray lock of blue-green hair out of his eyes as he writes something down in his notes, which are already running onto their third handwritten page. “Continue however you're comfortable.”   
  
“I remember asking Jihoon when he 'decided to turn into a man', because I was resentful that he hadn't told me, and he sat me down and explained to me how, when he was born, before his parents even got to hold him, the doctors... did a surgery on him.”   
  
“Oh?” Junseok looks up with polite, professional interest, and Wonwoo finds it impressive. The man may not look like a doctor at all, but he manages to be more trustworthy and relaxing than any other therapist he's ever had to face, and the brunet has been to more of them than he'd like to remember.   
  
\-   
  
“ _Surgery? Why?”_   
  
“ _You know how in biology class, we talked about physical sex abnormalities in animals?”_   
  
_Wonwoo's brows knit. “Yes, I remember.”_   
  
_Jihoon pats Wonwoo's shoulder. “My DNA and my insides say one thing. My outsides, what people see when I'm naked? It doesn't match. They c_ _hanged me to fit my body to a concept they thought could box me in forever. My parents went to the hospital to get a copy of my full medical record to send me from Busan, and when they went through it, they realized that all my life, my feelings had been right. It's been hard, knowing I could have always been who I wanted to be. This is more than being trans, even if that's what it feels like on the outside, and the social change is similar... But it feels unjust.”_   
  
_The taller of the two is stunned silent. He didn't think that could happen to people, and he agrees fiercely with Jihoon. That_ is _unjust, more so than anything else in the world, that what could have made him happy and saved him all this trouble of coming out, had been taken from him before he even knew who he was._   
  
“ _So you've always been a boy? Even if you were brought up like a girl?”_   
  
“ _You could say that... But listen. I need you to keep this secret. Just... It's easier if everyone thinks I'm just trans. I don't need body pity. I'd rather just... Fight for myself.”_   
  
\-   
  
“That's a powerful narrative your friend has there.” Junseok says, and Wonwoo responds, “It gets even more powerful when you realize that he's now a millionaire with a stable job, a booming business, a boyfriend he's happy with, and all this with everything he went through.”   
  
“...That must put a lot of pressure on you.”   
  
Wonwoo, startled, looks up at the doctor. That's _exactly_ what he feels!   
  
Taking a shuddering breath, the brunet grips his knees and is surprised when tears well in his eyes.   
  
“I just feel like I shouldn't be complaining when Jihoon's been through so much more. It feels pathetic. It's... not what men should do.” Wonwoo says, his voice breaking. “I wasn't supposed to be like this, and now everything's all wrong and it's my fault that it happened.”   
  
\-   
  
_He doesn't flinch or speak when his father yells at him. After all, the punishment is warranted, right? He's not supposed to be like this, nearly fifteen and already a disappointment because he's one of the worst kinds of all wrong. Wonwoo bites his tongue, swallowing back any response through the entire lecture as he sits on his bed, and he tries to keep his eyes away from the door. He knows that if he looks and he catches a glimpse of either his mother or Bohyuk, he's going to cry._   
  
_He'd been caught with another boy, a hyung from school that he's been meeting with under the guise of study. He should have known better, but when he was with his first love, in his arms, he'd felt invincible._   
  
_He'd learned that this, wrong though it was, was exactly what he wanted for the rest of his life._   
  
_Wonwoo can barely hear the words – “We didn't raise you like this”, “You'll shame our family”, “What if your brother follows after you, you know how he looks up to you” – but he can feel the frustration in them._   
  
_When the anger fades, it's much easier to hear, but it's not as if it hurts any less._   
  
“ _Wonwoo, why would you do this? What could have possessed you to do something like that? Kissing a man... Did he force you? Are you losing your mind?” His father pleads for an answer, his rage slowly fading into a sense of intention, an urge to understand, because, after all... Wonwoo is still his son. “My son, I love you. Let me help you.”_   
  
_Wonwoo's mouth is dry. His lips are trembling, his breaths are weak, but he trusts in his father._   
  
“ _I did it because I love him.” He whispers. “I wanted to.”_   
  
_He is not expecting the way strange flashes of light take his vision. He isn't prepared for an odd buzz in his ear or for his sight to blur or for his glasses to hit the hardwood floor by his toes. It takes him a moment to realize what happened as a sob of panic and pain wrings itself out of his chest._   
  
_His father had never hit him before._   
  
_-_   
  
Junseok moves his chair closer to Wonwoo, abandoning his notebook and instead arming himself with a box of tissues. He offers them to the crying brunet, who takes a few and presses them to his eyes.   
  
“I just... I trusted him, I thought he'd help me if he understood, but it just made things worse!” Wonwoo says, voice anguished. “So he spent until I was 17 just trying to fix me, trying to change me and control me and just... I had to go, Junseok, I had to _run._ ”   
  
“Understandable, Wonwoo. I'm so sorry that happened to you and that you had to feel that. When you say you had to run, what do you mean?”   
  
Wonwoo laughs mirthlessly, and he says, “I asked Jihoon to save me.”   
  
\-   
  
_He doesn't have a private moment at home anymore. He can't shower longer than twenty minutes. There's no door to his room. He doesn't have a phone, he doesn't have a computer (unless his father's there to breathe down his neck and ensure he's actually studying), and he has no free time. Wonwoo is isolated unless he's at school, and at school, he seeks out the only person that he feels he can rely on._   
  
“ _Jihoon, I can't stay there much longer. I'm losing my mind. He's everywhere, and he just changed me therapists for the fifth time because I haven't 'straightened out' enoug for his liking.”_   
  
_The now bleach blond boy looks up from his lunch and says, “How good is your father's English?”_   
  
_Wonwoo's brows knit. “It isn't. He doesn't speak it.”_   
  
“ _Isn't it college application season? Apply to universities in New York City and in Los Angeles. They have scholarships for people like you and me, and there's always a chance you could get one. Worst case scenario, someone with your grades gets scholar-shipped into the heart of Seoul; best case, you get out of Korea.” Jihoon says before cramming more rice than really should be possible into his mouth._   
  
_The blond is, as usual, a genius, so, having nothing to lose, Wonwoo tries it the minute his father is home and free to supervise him._   
  
_They don't make any small talk; there's only so much time that his father is willing to watch him, and Wonwoo can't waste a second of it. He does rapid fire searches in English, looking for scholarships for queer international students, and when he finds some, in New York, in Florida, in Canada, even, he applies, typing intensely with deep honesty and fervor behind his words. There are application fees, but he knows his mother's credit card information by heart, so he pays using that. He'll tell her later on how much he used, since he knows she's more than okay with it. She wants him to go to college – that much he's gotten from what little they can freely talk anymore, and that she doesn't understand his father. His dad's been drinking, more and more heavily as the days tick down to Wonwoo's graduation, enough to alter his temper to where he's threatened his wife and younger son._   
  
_Giving cursory glances to the screen as Wonwoo types, he doesn't see anything that looks unprofessional, so Wonwoo's father turns back to his book and his drink. The dark-haired young man sees in his father traits he himself has. He can't help but wonder as he sends his scholarships in if, had things been different, he would have ended up like his father. At some point, when he's nearly finished with his work, his father leans close to inspect the screen, and Wonwoo's blood runs cold. He can smell alcohol on his father's breath, stronger than he's ever sensed it before, and it makes his heart race with terror. Someone that drunk is capable of anything, but Wonwoo tries to keep his cool and keeps on typing until his father settles back down, suspicions assuaged when he sees there's no reaction out of his son._   
  
_As soon as he's done, he logs off the computer, bowing to his father. He heads into the dining room, joining his little brother, who is already there, poking at his kimchi bokkeumbap. Ever since the problem with their father had started, Bohyuk dawdles over his dinner while Wonwoo tears through his homework so that they get a chance to spend time together._   
  
“ _How was school?” Wonwoo asks, and Bohyuk shrugs. “It was alright, I guess.”_   
  
_Uncovering the plate of food his mother had left served for him, the older of the two digs in eagerly, but the younger brother wants to talk._   
  
“ _You graduate soon. Do you think that when you finish school... Things are gonna be alright?” Bohyuk murmurs, and, looking him dead in the eye, Wonwoo shakes his head no and says, after he's done chewing his food, “As soon as I get my university acceptance letters, I'm choosing the furthest place from here and I'm moving there. I don't care if I have to work myself to the bone, Jeonbuk, but I'm not going to keep you and Mom around this situation.”_   
  
_Bohyuk takes a small bite, chewing slowly as Wonwoo scarfs down his food, and then he says, “...Aren't you fixed, though, hyung?”_   
  
“ _No,” Wonwoo says with a heavy sigh, putting his chopsticks down. “I'm not.”_   
  
-

The appointment flies by just like that, almost all talk on the brunet's part, only just scratching the surface of his life's story. Junseok's on what Wonwoo thinks is his tenth or so page of notes by the time the brunet arrives to the point in his story where Vernon features.   
  
He talks for what feels like another whole eternity about Vernon, and then about the kiss, and then he mentions his father's death. Wonwoo is exhausted, shaking with it because he's not sure how much more emotion he can take, and he has to pause to keep himself from crying again. He has no tears to spare, anyway – his eyes feel sandy and tired (he's going to have to put eyedrops in before he exits the building, isn't he?). The minor ache in his head is already too much, and he still has to make his way home; he would rather not take the subway with a headache and irritated eyes.   
  
However, as he takes a breath to continue, Junseok stops him with a gentle gesture indicating that he should hold on, and indicates the clock. It's 12:35, just 25 minutes before his appointment's end, and the doctor shifts in his seat to tuck his leg up under his body.   
  
“I'm stopping you now because I wanted to take the last quarter or so of our first session to lay out a treatment plan with you. It's probably the last thing you want to do now, something so logistical, and I'm really sorry to cut off your story. There's so much to you, and we definitely can't cram it into a single introductory session, not to mention that your father is... a delicate topic. If it's okay with you, I would love to see you again in a week so we can really isolate your most pressing concerns and address them; I'd be happy to get you into the same time slot for next Monday, if you're okay with it.” Junseok says, and Wonwoo is actually grateful. He's already put the better part of his life on the table, so a break before coming back would be ideal. He nods, and the doctor turns to his computer, logging in and booking the appointment right away as the brunet taps a reminder into his phone. The clinic is definitely out of his way, but even if therapy is hard and the place is a bit far, it's nice to be heard and know he's not really inconveniencing someone.   
  
“Now that that's out of the way, I want to set a little goal with you. Just a small thing.”   
  
“Sure,” Wonwoo says, pocketing his device and looking up at the ponytailed young psychologist. Junseok seems to be looking for words, wiggling his fingers a bit in the air as he brings together his thoughts. When he's got them, he gestures to Wonwoo and he says, “Two things for this week. Just small things.”   
  
Junseok pulls open a drawer and rifles through some folders. Taking a few papers out of one, he hands them over to Wonwoo and says, “First, I want you to just... read over these.”   
  
“Okay, and what's second?”   
  
“I want you to, for every hour you spend talking with Jihoon from now until our next meeting, try to socialize with someone else for ten minutes. You can add up your minutes however you'd like, but do your best to keep track, and we'll see at the start of next week if that makes any kind of a difference for you.”   
  
\-   
  
When Wonwoo drags himself back into his apartment and lays in his bed, sometime near 3PM, his phone goes off in his coat pocket.   
  
It's about the time Jihoon wakes up on a weekday, since he has sessions for recordings starting at 4, but his phone is in his coat, he just got cozy in his bed with some pajamas on, he doesn't really feel like talking, and he-   
  
_ping! ping!_   
  
Groaning, he gets out of bed to fish his phone out of his coat, but then curls up with it under the covers before looking at who's messaging him. It's a Discord notification, but it is not from Jihoon. Good. That means this can count toward ten minutes of talking to someone not the producer.   
  
**_the Jun in the Moon:_ **   
  
_hi nonu!! i was just talking to vernon adhdkjask_

 _they want to dm you but they don't know if you're okay with receiving dms from them because you don't really know each other that well_   
  
**_Wonton:_ **   
  
_yeah, it's okay. just have them go for it._   
  
Within seconds, he has another direct message.   
  
**_vernon:_ **   
  
_hi wonwoo i just wanted to say im so sorry about the thing at the club_

_i didnt want to bother you right away since you left so quick and i knew id probably upset you_

_it was really stupid of me to do what i did that night, drunk or otherwise, and i hope i didnt make things permanently weird between us_   
  
Vernon has clearly had the incident between them on their mind, enough that they'd felt awkward approaching him without some sort of confirmation that it would be okay, and it makes Wonwoo feel bad. He'd overreacted to the situation because he'd been overwhelmed, but rather than letting this become another iteration of the Jeonghan incident, he decides to handle this differently. After all, he'd just braved a major fear and opened up in therapy. Compared to that, to telling someone his whole story, his worries, his memories, his stress... Vernon's not as much of a threat to him anymore.   
  
**_Wonton:_ **   
  
_i don't think it's going to do any permanent damage, vernon, so don't worry. it was just kind of overwhelming, since we'd just met that night, but parties and alcohol will close distances a lot faster than they naturally would._

 _thanks for your apology. it means a lot._   
  
**_vernon:_ **   
  
_if its cool with you i think we should try again and get to know each other from scratch_

_no parties no pressure and definitely not me being fucked up on whatever and making you feel weird_

_we can just hang out wherever and whenever you feel comfortable_

_take it easy and maybe eat some food_

**_Wonton:_ **   
  
_i think i'd like that._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a very difficult chapter to write. i was initially going to put more into it, but i figured that telling every detail would get tiring for both me and the reader, and instead opted to flashback key scenes that helped lead wonwoo to who he is now. i think this version turned out a lot better than my original draft.
> 
> thanks for reading, once again. i love you all.


	7. strange asian trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the titles mean something, by the way, and there are references to a lot of things

Friendship is one of those strange sensations that grows, at least inside Jeon Wonwoo, like a cedar tree. It’s slow and permeating, but he can tell when it’s happening, because it’s not slow enough to escape his notice. He senses something inside him is changing, given that he and Vernon had ended up talking for an hour or two before agreeing they'd chill at the brunet's place the next day. In fact, it feels like he's in some kind of dramatic story, and so he feels some semblance of what he had the previous Wednesday.

This time, there's no doubt in his mind that it's not just the allergy pills. Something is actually happening. He wants to put hope on it, but hope is terrifying (it’s never led him to anything good, after all, and trust isn’t so hot in his book either), so Wonwoo is content to just be positive. All these somethings are just bringing his life up and up a little at a time.

Sleep comes a little easier than it did the day before, ushered in by a dose of diphenhydramine, a mug of sweet lavender tea, and a sense that if he works hard, things in his life will, with luck on his side, not _fucking suck._

-

**_#1 Lucio Main:_ **

_Im really surprised ur going through with this bc u seemed really upset with vernon on saturday_

_When r they gonna be over_

**_Wonton:_ **

_my new therapist, the one i told you i met with yesterday, wants me to socialize with people that are not you, and since vernon wants to patch things up, it's as good an option as any._

_vernon told me they'd be here between 6:30 and 7:00, so of course, i'm going to be ready by 6:15._

**_#1 Lucio Main:_ **

_Ur new therapist sounds like as much a sensible man as you sound an overprepared one_

_What r u and vernon gonna do for hangouts tho_

**_Wonton:_ **

_we're just going to hang out, probably play some games on the ps. they said they were bringing food and to not cook or anything, since we talked about food last night after they came back from dinner._

_since it's an evening hangout, we thought snacks were a good idea._

**_#1 Lucio Main:_ **

_But if im guessing right which i totally am u already prepped mostly allergen free snacks and have them in the fridge or the oven_

_Just in case_

_Lowkey though i feel like vernon thinks everyone is mingyu_

_Ive never met anyone so devoted to feeding everyone else like that stupid fucking skyscraper-looking dumbass_

_I love him_

**_Wonton:_ **

_i'm so telling him you said that._

**_#1 Lucio Main:_ **

_Ur avoiding the snack question which just confirms it_

_I will fucking tell vernon ur cancelling if u tell mingyu i said that_

**_Wonton:_ **

_you jerk, ugh, i was kidding._

_yes, i did pick up snacks at the store. can you blame me? what if they pull a soonyoung and bring over shrimp crackers? i'm not going to suffer an allergic reaction, no matter how attractive they are._

_but listen, thanks for checking in with me. if i need you to save me, you know the code, right?_

**_#1 Lucio Main:_ **

_If you text me to ask about the restaurant we're going to tomorrow and ask its name im supposed to call u and say i need u to come down to the studio so u can bail if things get bad_

**_Wonton:_ **

_perfect. here's hoping i don't have to use it. i mean, vernon's probably not a serial killer._

**_#1 Lucio Main:_ **

_I think vernon has bigger things to worry about than killing nerdy math guys with the body definition of a single crunchy cheeto_

**_Wonton:_ **

_you're a fucking headass._

 

Putting his Discord on Do Not Disturb, Wonwoo plugs in his phone before heading into the bathroom. It's only 5, so still a solid hour and a half before Vernon said they'd be over, and that gives Wonwoo plenty of time to clean up.

He takes a shower, spending most of it debating how casual he wants to look, and opens up the bathroom door a crack while he dries off so the steam will clear out of the room. When he can actually see himself in the mirror again, Wonwoo shaves, careful not to nick himself. He's excited to see Vernon, to have a chance to get to know them without any loud music or party vibes around, and it would really put a dent in his good mood to have a cut stinging on his cheek all evening.

When he's satisfied that his face is finally smooth, Wonwoo makes for his bedroom and looks into the closet. He's going to be hosting Vernon in his own home, so there's no need to dress up at all, but if he dresses down too much, he'll just look sloppy. It takes him a good ten minutes of digging through what he owns to find something that he doesn't feel is too casual or too formal.

It's just jeans, ripped by design, and an oversized dark green hoodie that he'd found with the tags still on over a grey t-shirt Jihoon had brought him from a concert he'd wanted to attend but had to miss (because leave it to Jeon Wonwoo to have gastritis the one weekend Kaoru no Rocket was in New York), but the brunet thinks the outfit looks nice enough to make him not look like he’s a lazy fuck and dressed down enough to look chill.

Pulling some socks on, Wonwoo checks on the bathroom, making sure nothing embarrassing is in plain view and that it’s clean, and then ventures into the kitchen and tidies up. He’s nervous, on some level, and when he’s nervous, he cleans. He has a glass of juice just so he has something to wash, even if he’s not that thirsty, but it has the added benefit of helping to settle his stomach (which, apparently, is trying to become the next Simone Biles, given the amount of flips it’s doing without his permission). After that, he wipes some imaginary crumbs off the counter, as if he hasn’t done that 12 times already, and then he paces his way into the living room. The TV’s been dusted, the entertainment center smells like he used half a can of lemon Pledge, the couch has had the throw pillows fluffed, and the blinds are half-open for that golden ambient light to filter in as the sun sets.

He’s trying to make an easy, relaxed mood here, but he’s not sure which sentiment will actually come across. It’s been ages since he hung out with anyone _not_ Jihoon, and as much as he loves the younger man, Jihoon’s hangout standards aren’t usually that high when it comes to their one-on-ones. Wonwoo is decidedly on his own on this one, and the very idea of something falling to him is more than a little distressing.

It’s 6:15 when he glances at the clock, and as he looks around, there’s nothing left to tidy, nothing left to arrange, and his hands are sweaty and shaking a little bit. Since he has time, he decides to try and calm down, taking deep, slow breaths, counting himself into a much more sensible state of mind. He’s going to deal with this like he does everything else, because that usually works for him - he’s going to put his emotions aside for the moment and (hopefully) work through them later.

Wonwoo is much calmer, at least on the outside, by the time the doorbell rings. The downstairs door must be open, since the intercom hadn’t gone off. Just for security, he checks through the peephole, and when he sees it’s Vernon, he takes another steadying breath.

“Jeon Wonwoo, bag of luck,” he mumbles to himself in Korean, and then swings open the door.

-

Vernon, _blessed Vernon,_ didn’t just bring snacks.

No, they brought God himself into his home, in the form of Five Guys (burgers and _fucking fries_ ), and at Wonwoo’s direction, they set two bags and a full drink carrier on the counter and give him a somewhat embarrassed explanation as to how they’d even ended up bringing that much food over.

“My mom,” they begin (which is enough of an explanation for Wonwoo, given his experience with mothers), “gave me a ride over so I could save my MetroCard for the ride back home, since my sister has a thing, but I told her I wanted to pick up something to bring over.”

“I think I know where this is going.” Wonwoo says as he gets out some plates from the cabinet, rinsing them as Vernon keeps talking.

“Yeah, I was just gonna get one thing for each of us, since we’d talked about food last night and we both like burgers, but then she like, overrode me and bought a fucking spread. I don’t know if you like shakes, but hey, we now have four as a result of my mom assuming everyone eats like I do. The bacon-caramel one is mine, but it’s free game on any of the other shakes.” The blond says, rummaging through the bags and carefully sorting through what they’d brought to put some things on one plate and some on another. Wonwoo watches them arrange things for a moment before looking at the shakes and helping himself to what looks like a plain vanilla one. He pops the lid, just to make sure, and then he points at the blond with his drink, straw directed right at them. “I can’t say I’m unhappy with your mom’s assumption. At the very least, there are options, right?”

“Right, right,” Vernon says with a smile, popping a few fries into their mouth. “But I’m still surprised I can eat this. Did you know they fry their potatoes in peanut oil?”

“No, I had no idea,” Wonwoo responds, taking the plate Vernon pushes toward him and beckoning that the other should follow him onto the sofa. “I never really noticed, since I’m not allergic. ...Should you be eating the fries?”

They sit together on the furniture, on opposite ends of the grey sofa, so that they can extend their legs comfortably, and Vernon says, “It’s fine, actually. I’m allergic to peanut proteins, so the oil’s safe because of the refining process. And in the event that it’s not, which hasn’t happened yet, I’m ready. I keep a pen on me in case of emergency.”

“Relatable,” Wonwoo says, sipping at his shake. “I keep a pen too.”

Vernon is drinking their bacon-caramel monstrosity, and rather than consider just how much weird anxiety the concept of putting fried meat in a milkshake gives him, the brunet focuses on the conversation, because that way, he won’t have to think about the fact that he actually has a crush of some sort on a person that _drinks meat._ Their lips look super nice on the straw, but, too soon, Vernon puts the drink down to pull back the paper on their first burger.

By then, Wonwoo's three bites in – he's a lot hungrier than he thought he'd be, and it's been ages since he's had Five Guys (because who the fuck goes all the way out to Throggs Neck for burgers when there's a Popeye's with perfectly good chicken just beyond the train station?). Vernon must have read his order verbatim from when they'd talked about food the night before, because the burger is perfect, piled with everything he likes.

“So you're allergic to nuts too?” Vernon says after a mouthful of those fries fried in peanut oil, and Wonwoo shakes his head as he chews, and responds when his mouth's free, “Shellfish.”

The conversation goes from there, easy and casual, but they never actually make it to the video games.

-

Wonwoo finds out that, despite their face and how natural the faded out blond 'do looks on them, Vernon is Korean, just like the rest of the friend group. They're not fullblood Korean, but that doesn't matter when they speak just as fluently as anyone native he knows. Vernon had bounced between the US and Korea a few times, but, given their grimace at the mention of school, Wonwoo can kind of fill in the blanks. It was clearly a bad experience for them, so he's more than happy to drop it. They drift from the topic of school on to food, and then from there into the topic of how, in some respects, America's a welcome change from Korea.

“It's so much easier to be gay here,” Vernon says, shifting on their side of the sofa for probably the billionth time that night (which makes the brunet think they just really can't sit still). “Don't even start me on being non-binary. I just feel like, in New York, at least, I can go wherever I go and do whatever I do without too much of an issue. People might have their hate and shit, but like, at least they don't talk about it because everyone here minds their business. Until I say Korea, then they feel a pressing need to remind me that it's _South_ Korea, as if I don't know that already.”

Wonwoo considers that, and he says, “Ugh. Americans with their insistence that everything they say has to be the absolute and most universal truth. American nonsense aside, in my experience writing for Prism Magazine, I can say that I can agree with you to an extent, but I think it's different for you and for me. I look like a textbook Asian man. Like, you _look_ white, which in and of itself constitutes-”

“Privilege,” Vernon chips in, nodding. “I've got white-passing privilege, which can be nice, but it's a real bitch to try and be in a Korean or overall Asian space without someone assuming I'm trying to be a 'Koreaboo', because, as you know...”

Wonwoo sighs, rolling his eyes as he takes off his glasses to blow a stray eyelash off one of the lenses, and he mutters, tone heavy-laden with bitter sarcasm, “Anyone who doesn't seem Asian enough for a white man's liking trying to understand or participate in aspects of Korean culture _must_ be trying to culturally appropriate the entire fucking nation of Korea. Gotta show my Asian card at the door to every restaurant.” Replacing his glasses, he sees a glimmer of passion in Vernon's eyes, and he picks up quick that this is a topic they've put a lot of thought into.

“I am so tired,” the blond says, fists clenching tight to emphasize what they're saying, “of people acting like being Asian's about what shape your eyes have and whether you're from the land of K-pop, anime, or suicide-netted iPhone factories. Like, holy fucking shit, okay, I've heard people on Twitter talking about this all the time, and maybe you don't notice it, since, like you said, you look like what people who aren't Asian think Asian people look like, but what about Filipino people? Indonesians? Vietnamese people? They're under-recognized, and this shit's not fair.”

Wonwoo immediately rushes in with a point of his own the moment the blond pauses to breathe, a thrill building in his veins as Vernon lays out their opinions. “Consider this: not only are they under-recognized, but they're nearly invisible if they're LGBTQI+ in any way – asexual Asians are in a unique place, but that's not what I'm getting at now. Coming from my place as a gay Korean man, I honestly can't speak for lesbian, bisexual, or transgender people, but do you have any idea _how complicated it is to get a date?_ ”

“No!” Vernon says, pointing at Wonwoo. “I don't, but I have an idea of how hard it is to retain a relationship. People want to date me because I'm attractive, because they like my personality, whatever, but then when I start talking about Korean stuff, it either gets fetishized or swept aside in favor of more American aspects I have, no matter what color of person I'm dating, unless I'm trying to date another Asian person. And that's all if I make it past the fact that I'm non-binary. Fucking imagine.”

“I don’t need to imagine. I fucking know.” Wonwoo says, raising his second shake to tap it against Vernon’s in a toast.

“To the worst dating statistics in the whole world.” The blond laughs, and Wonwoo smiles right back.

-

The conversation runs long and late, and it's just under an hour to midnight when Vernon shows themselves out and down to the train station to catch their train before the 2 switches to the late night local route. Wonwoo offers to walk them down there, since they're not from the neighborhood, but Vernon insists they'll be fine and that it's an easy walk (it is, but Wonwoo finds himself a little disappointed that Vernon chooses to walk alone). After they part ways and the blond leaves with half a burger wrapped in tinfoil – 'for the road,' Vernon jokes – Wonwoo takes out his trash to the chute in the hall so it won't attract any of the six-legged spawn of Satan into the apartment overnight. If he were a roach, he'd be all over that shit, and so he decides it's better to be safe than sorry.

It's only when he returns from dropping the bag down the chute that Jeon Wonwoo remembers that yes, he is, in fact, an adult in possession of a cellular device, and he pats his pockets in search of it for a few moments before remembering that he'd tossed it on the coffee table at some point during his discussion with Vernon after checking the time.

Unlocking it, he opens up Discord, taking himself off Do Not Disturb, and checks his messages.

Jihoon, as usual, has crowded their chat in Wonwoo's absence, leaving something like 51 messages for him to read (though it's probably nothing truly urgent; he would have called). Opting to ignore Jihoon for the moment, he's about to check _Radio Hell Party_ when a cheery little boop from the application informs him that Vernon's just messaged him.

 

**_vernon:_ **

_taking a stroll through this little park with the chipmunks on the way to the station and just wondering if theres a place for something warm to drink en route so i have something to wash down the better half of a bacon cheeseburger_

_i got thirsty just now despite having passed three bodegas and i dont wanna go back now so i dont get fucked over by route change_

**_Wonton:_ **

_there's a dunkin' on the right side of the street, same side as the stairs up to the station._

_i think they're still open at this hour._

**_vernon:_ **

_thanks so much_

_i had a great time tonight by the way i really liked our discussion_

_i havent had thought provoking conversation like that in a while and it was really really refreshing_

_we should hang out again soon_

**_Wonton:_ **

_definitely._

_i still think you need to message seokmin about getting a job at prism. you've got this intersectional perspective that a lot of writers are missing these days, and i think you'd do really good work._

**_vernon:_ **

_ill consider it haha but i told you already im not good at concentrating_

_i have adhd like zebras have stripes_

_oh shit the dunkin is open let me get something_

_ill let you know when i make it on the train_

_imma let you go though_

_thanks again and good night_

**_Wonton:_ **

_good night._

 

Closing that window, Wonwoo immediately calls Jihoon, inhaling through his teeth as he prays silently that the other's not busy.

“I take it that the evening went well?” Jihoon snarks by way of hello, and Wonwoo hears a voice say something he can't make out before the other says, “No, I'm on the phone, Mingyu, don't worry about it. Anyway, tell me how it went. You can't leave anything out.”

“Alright, are you sitting down?” Wonwoo says, checking so Jihoon won't pace a pattern into the floor of wherever he is and annoy the hell out of Mingyu. While he waits, the phone buzzes against his ear - pulling it away, he checks the notification. Vernon’s on their train, so now Wonwoo doesn’t have to worry about checking his messages while he’s on the phone. When he puts his phone back up to his ear, he hears the little sigh of relief that means Jihoon's found somewhere comfortable to situate himself. Taking a deep breath, Wonwoo licks his lips and begins telling the tale. “So they show up at my place, right on time and with a lot more food than I expected-”

“Wait, wait, wait, before you go ahead.” Jihoon interrupts, and the brunet resists the urge to groan as the producer says, “What are you doing next Saturday the 13th?”

“Nothing that I know of yet. It’s not even midnight on the third yet. I don’t plan my life out three weeks in advance like you.” Wonwoo responds. Mingyu laughs in the background (Jihoon must have him on speakerphone [which Wonwoo _hates_ ]), and Jihoon snaps, “It’s only two weeks in advance at any given time. Now stop trying to roast me and listen, alright?”

“Okay, fine. What’s the plan?”

“From now to then, I’m going to need you to get a suit that doesn’t make you look like a librarian or a mortician. Something in color, maybe. Jun’s turning 28 and we’re throwing her-”

“Him,” Wonwoo chips in instinctively, because last he'd heard, Jun was male, and Jihoon backtracks to correct himself, clearly more out of the loop than Wonwoo.

“We’re throwing them a party that’s going to double as a party for Soonyoung. That means it’s going to be twice as big, twice as fancy, and Chan and Jeonghan have put me in charge of wrangling everyone into the dress code. Consider yourself dress coded, and don’t book anything at all for that Saturday or I will see to it that you free up. Permanently. Glad we had this talk.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, sighing as Jihoon once again drags him into an activity without permission, but he can’t keep back a smile at his intense friend’s strange way of caring.

“It was a good talk, Jihoon. Now will you hear me out about Vernon?”

“Yes,” the other says firmly. “Tell the damn story.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because why not give vernon's character a little redemption? lmao.
> 
> i'm not asian, but i am a trans poc. if you have stories to share as an asian person or an lgbtq person, please do! i'm always willing to talk, listen, and learn.
> 
> feel free to comment.


	8. the devil's in the details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter mostly consisted of wonwoo being gay and logistics i'm sorry

Lunch on Wednesday is refreshing. It's Wonwoo's pick this week, so he's settled on a low-lit, trendy eatery called Colour on the edge of Brooklyn. He's been here before, but since Wonwoo is a creature of habit, he's been dying to come back for ages. However, since Jihoon's more the type to launch himself headlong into unknown territory and try hard to buck routine, Wonwoo makes it a point to not pick the same restaurant more than once within the same month. It's a good compromise.

This week, however, lunch is all kinds of different, even if the restaurant is the same one they went to at the tail end of April. After all, there are six other people at the table today. This isn't a lunch date - this is a lunch meeting, but despite that, Jihoon had enforced Wonwoo's restaurant pick. Just because others were joining on didn't mean that the rules were subject to change, according to Jihoon. Rules are rules, after all. So, seated at a large square table, they're two to a side, and as their drinks are delivered, Wonwoo takes stock of who's on the impromptu party planning committee as he takes a sip of his Coke straight from the glass.

Lee Chan, the man with the plan, youngest at the table but also one of the brains of the operation, inspects his cucumber water over the top of his menu. He's seated directly across from Wonwoo. To Chan's immediate left, on the same side of the table, Minghao, who'd volunteered to take the minutes on their iPad Pro with their overpriced little Apple Pen (and who also seems to have some kind of secret responsibility that no one is telling Wonwoo), is reading over what they've taken down so far. They completely ignore their smoothie, a bright yellow and pink thing that probably has more vitamin C than a triple dose of supplements, and on Chan's right, Seungcheol takes this brief lull as an opportunity to speak.

"I," The rapper says after taking a long drink of his half-price sangria like the absolutely out of control day drinker he is, "am not in charge of food, and while it's a fancy event because of Jun, we've got to have a lot of food for Hoshi. I'm thinking that a buffet is the best way to go."

Jeonghan, the second brain of the operation, across from Seungcheol with a glass of that fancy pink wine that girls from SoHo have been ranting about on Yikyak for what feels like an eternity, points at Minghao and says, "God, you're right. Hao, jot down that we should tell Mingyu that we're going for a lot of food."

Everyone looks at the mulleted fashionista expectantly, and then, satisfied that the meeting's notes are in good hands (and also probably in Chinese, for that matter), return to poring over the menu for food choices. Jihoon, immediately perpendicular to Wonwoo and next to Seungcheol, doesn't say anything, and instead busies himself, carefully cooling his black tea with gentle breaths so he can hopefully drink it at some point within the next five years. Beside Jeonghan, Seungkwan is checking his email, the straw to his virgin piña colada between his lips. He's in charge of entertainment, and from what Wonwoo's gotten, he, Joshua, and Seokmin have something in the works. Beside Seungkwan, on Wonwoo's side of the table, is an empty chair and an untouched iced herbal tea, because Vernon, blessed Vernon, had excused themselves to go to the bathroom.

When Vernon returns, it's time to go around the table and make sure everyone's clear on their role, so Minghao writes down every person's name, and they start, working counterclockwise.

Chan takes a sip of his water, and then he says, "I'm the official rep for Jun. If you have questions about what he likes, wants, or needs, I can get you answers. I'm also the official staller and liar so he won't catch on to the surprise."

Minghao takes this down meticulously, and then gestures that the next person should speak up. They haven't said a word all meeting, but they're clearly deeply invested in this project. Seungcheol clears his throat, and he says, "I'm on venue arrangements. Booking's clear, payment's due."

Jihoon chips in as soon as Seungcheol finishes off his drink and waves the waiter over to come fetch the glass away and bring him another. "I'm financial backing, and the dress code enforcer."

Minghao levels a look at Wonwoo, who just sits silent for a few heartbeats. He's not sure why he's at this meeting anyway, and figures it's safe to bow out of the responsibility until he's assigned something.

"He's going to be the accountant and keeper." Jihoon says firmly, and Wonwoo looks at him. He does have a minor in accounting, and even if his skills are a little dusty, he's pretty confirmed this is something he can do. He's not sure what a keeper is, but it can't be that hard. Under the table, he feels Jihoon's steel toecap bump his ankle, and he gives the smallest nod.

"Leave it to me."

From Wonwoo, the figurative mic goes to Vernon, who says, "I'm on RSVP; anyone who doesn't text or call me doesn't get in."

"I'm on entertainment with Joshua and Seokmin." Seungkwan says, not looking up from his phone. Jeonghan follows up with, "I'm representing Soonyoung. I'll make sure that nosy boy stays in his lane."

Minghao takes a minute to process all this and make sure everything is written down, and then they say, "Mingyu couldn't be here, but he's on food, and I'm in charge of styling. I know Jihoon probably asked you all to get something in the dress code, but I have a special idea in mind for our outfits. I'll contact everyone later to talk the details over. Now that that's established..." Minghao locks their iPad screen and takes up their menu. "Shall we eat?"

-

Over lunch, Wonwoo comes to understand that what his exact job entails is hanging on to whatever quantity of money everyone is chipping in his Zelle, and then sending people amounts when they need them to cover everything. It curbs impulsive spending, and it leaves a clear trail of where the cash flows, so Wonwoo has everyone who intends to finance the fiesta Zelle him while they're eating so that he can be ready to disburse funds at a moment's notice when they break to go handle things their own way.

The conversation drifts into details, a solid 60% of which go over Wonwoo's head, so he puts his attention toward his pulled pork sandwich. The thing's cut in half, but still bigger than Wonwoo's mouth could ever open, so he has to cut the halves into thirds, leaving him with six pieces piled high with pork. It's all saucy, the meat drenched in a sweet and spicy barbecue that drips down his hands every time he takes a bite. There's a pile of coleslaw and a basket of housemade parmesan chips on the table as sides for just the bespectacled brunet's lunch. Thankfully, the table is large, because there are seven other meals just as large as his taking up the space, ranging from a steak salad for Chan and a fettucine alfredo pizza for Seungkwan to lasagna for Jeonghan and salmon fajitas for Jihoon. There are three-pepper chicken wings in front of Minghao, Seungcheol has a chevon enchilada (which is apparently goat meat), and Vernon's plowing eagerly through a mac and cheese burger. It's all weird, every last bit of this, but it's comforting and nice. They're all sharing their side dishes, breadsticks and fries and chips and even riced cauliflower making their rounds of the table, and Wonwoo watches as these people who he calls his friends, who have welcomed him back into the thick of things with open arms and bright smiles, laugh and organize things. His heart swells (figuratively, because cardiomegaly is something he hopes to avoid) looking at everyone, and without thinking, he rests his chin in his hand and gazes out the window, just beyond Vernon, to watch cars pass.

He’s not sure when that turns into gazing at Vernon, who, even if they’re eating, look striking. The way the light falls over their face brings out the honeyed brown of their eyes (which never stray from their meal) makes Wonwoo wonder what it might look like if Vernon were to look at him.

His contemplation of the dining blond is shattered when Jihoon says takes a sip of his tea (now at the right temperature for him to want to drink because his food is still too hot for him to want to eat) and says, voice laden with amusement, “You've got sauce on your cheek there, Jeon.”

“Ah, fuck,” Wonwoo groans, jerking his hand away from his face suddenly as everyone else laughs.

-

“ _Fuck,”_ Wonwoo breathes, looking at his Zelle account.

He has $10,912.77 in his account available for transfer by the time he sits down with his notebook in his apartment at about 4PM to budget, and that is an alarming amount of money that is not all his. Checking on his transaction history, Wonwoo takes a second to jot down where all that's from in the hope of stamping down his panic.

When he's done taking down the notes, he double checks his list with the transfer record, and then picks up his phone to start distributing money where it’s needed. Already, his Discord has 53 notifications, and sighing, he starts from the first and begins working toward the most recent.

By the time 8 PM rolls around, Wonwoo's already spread out over half the funds. Seungcheol's paid for the venue reservation, Jeonghan's sent receipts for reimbursement on party favors, Chan's placed the flower orders, Minghao's messaged to ask after his birthday, and the brunet, hunched over his notes and his calculations, bemoans his sore back. Despite the discomfort, though, he's content to be useful. He's been growing more and more aware that the reason for his role is to ensure that money is appropriately used. There's probably a reason for that rule, and probably a reason Jihoon had dropped the job on him, but Wonwoo doesn't question it. He doesn't have that kind of time, because now Mingyu's calling him. Taking this chance to stand up and walk around to stretch his aching body, Wonwoo answers the call.

“Hi! This is Wonwoo, right?” Mingyu asks, voice hesitant, and Wonwoo responds, hobbling into the kitchen on sore legs with a wince, “Yo, hey, Mingyu. What's up?”

He hears paper, and then the click of a pen, and Mingyu says, “I called to ask about your allergies. I don't want to put too much in the buffet you can't eat.”

Wonwoo inhales through his teeth. “Tell the caterers I can't have shellfish.”

After, presumably, writing things down, Mingyu says, “Consider him told – you're speaking to the boss of the kitchen.”

“You're cooking for the event?” The brunet says, walking toward the bedroom in his circuit of the apartment with a lot less of a limp that when he'd first gotten up. “I didn't realize you did catering.”

Mingyu laughs a little bit, and he responds, “I've never done it before, let alone with the concept that it's going to be like a buffet, but I figure I just have to make sure I cook more than Soonyoung or Jihoon can eat. I calculated based on what happened at my birthday, and then factored you in as eating as much as the person that ate the most at the barbecue place, so I'm guessing that, for the friend group alone, I have to make sure I have enough to feed sixty people. So then we factor in everyone that works with Jun and Soonyoung, plus ones, friends, and an extra thirty people just in case. Cook like a buffet, with enough food that everyone could cheerfully have four plates, taking half-portions of everything, and we're looking at 50 portions of everything if we sub out the people with allergies.”

Wonwoo gives a low whistle, impressed at Mingyu's confidence and poise in handling the situation. He's jumping in with both feet, nailing himself to the project, and he's clearly very determined to ensure that all this doesn't end badly. Mingyu feels reliable, and even if Wonwoo's only known him personally for a solid five days, he can see why the group is willing to trust him with this highly critical part of any event. “You sound like a genius at this already, Mingyu. I have a feeling you'll nail it.”

“On the subject of nailing it, though, I have to call the rest of the crew and double check allergies, then check on Jun and Soonyoung's preferences to set up the menu! Is it okay if I get back to you with the expenditures as soon as I've got receipts?” Mingyu says suddenly, papers rustling and things scraping loudly in the background. Wonwoo can't help but smile. The guy reminds him of Seokmin, in a good way. However, he can't stand around and stay amused, so he lets Mingyu go and goes to the kitchen to help himself to the leftovers of his lunch as the strange orange streetlamp light filters in through the cracks in the blinds, and thinks that yeah, maybe this _is_ different.

Maybe life's good.

-

It’s Monday when Minghao calls Wonwoo into Manhattan to sort out his wardrobe. This is their main responsibility, and it’s one everyone trusts they’ll handle well. Designs are their forte, gracing international runways, and besides, Minghao gets free models if they dress their friends, which has always been a spectacularly smart strategy on their part, given that they’re friends with the likes of Jeonghan and Woozi.

Wonwoo toes off his shoes, aligning them against the wall and depositing his bag in one of the cubbies that his friend keeps by the door for their guests. Minghao had let him in, and had hurried back into one of the apartment’s rooms to pull something off the rack. One of the four bedrooms in Minghao’s place is for their designs, which he remembers from the last party he attended in the upscale space in November (for the Chinese artist’s own birthday), and sure enough, they hustle back into the living room, where there are lights all set up and a folding room divider blocks off a corner so that people getting fitted can change.

Minghao gestures that he should step behind the divider as they fuss over what they’ve brought from the bedroom, and Wonwoo obliges, peeling off his clothes in the corner and hanging them on a rack that the designer’s so graciously provided. There’s a sudden movement in his peripheral vision, startling him, but when he squints in that direction, sees it’s just Minghao’s hand holding out some clothes to him; a suit, untailored and unaltered from its original shape. He and the designer have worked together before (at Jihoon’s request), so they still have Wonwoo’s shirt size and measurements on file. Taking the proffered items, he starts to dress, and as he buttons the black shirt, he asks, hoping to make small talk, “How are Cheol and Shua doing?”

“Fine enough. Shua and I have decided we’re going to go steady. Cheol is, predictably, Cheol. You know how he is; ebbing and flowing in the river of himself. Can’t blame him. He’s a Leo, after all.” Minghao’s voice is strained, and though Wonwoo wants to ask, the moment he steps out from behind the divider, suit jacket in hand, Minghao ushers him onto the platform. Once they’re certain the shirt fits, they have him don the jacket, and Wonwoo feels the figurative walls go up. There will be no more talking about Minghao’s boyfriends today.

“You’re a Cancer, as I’m sure you know, given that I tell you this almost every time I see you so that your fool self won’t forget.” Minghao says, changing the subject, circling Wonwoo with a critical eye, indicating he should raise his arms. “That makes this infinitely harder than it needs to be.”

“I wish I knew what you were talking about,” Wonwoo mutters, holding his arms out to his sides. Minghao leans back, examining the double-breasted suit jacket Wonwoo has on. They inspect the seams running parallel to his chest, pinching the fabric between their fingers here and there to see how much they could stand to take in on Wonwoo’s torso. Once that’s pinned, and Minghao ensures the back vent of the jacket’s laying flat, they move to the sleeves, still behind the brunet.

“Well, Jun and I share an interest in the stars, so I went for the astronomical representation of every sign,” The designer says as they put pins here and there so they can take in the sleeves later. “And Cancer’s main feature, Wonwoo, is basically, as you know, empty space. It’s literally the dimmest sign, nothing above fourth magnitude in it, so it’s really difficult to dress you to stand out.”

“I’m… Sorry?” Wonwoo responds, brows knitting with confusion as Minghao runs their hands up the jacket’s peak lapels to ensure they’ll lay flat now that the alterations are pinned out.

“You probably haven’t noticed, given the nature of the light, but the fabric you’re wearing is printed. With star patterns, no less.” Minghao says cheerfully. Wonwoo brings his arm closer to squint at it, to try to see the stars, but then Minghao’s long fingers touch his arm to redirect it back to where it was. The mulleted person makes an annoyed noise, and they say, “Don’t move. I’m not finished, fool boy.”

Standing still, Wonwoo gazes, bored, at the ceiling as Minghao turns their attention to the boxy pants the man in front of them is wearing. When the door swings open in front of where the brunet is standing, however, his eyes flick down to the person that’s entered Minghao’s Chelsea apartment. They have a key in hand, but Wonwoo can’t recognize who it is - they have a face mask on, plain white, as well as a beanie that covers their hair, but what stands out is that _he knows the book the quote on their hoodie is from_ . He has to wonder if that person’s just being edgy, or if they’ve actually read Chuck Palahniuk, because it’s not every day that you see someone traipse into an upscale New York apartment wearing a white pullover hoodie at least two sizes too large with the words _‘BIRDS ATE MY FACE’_ on the chest in pink. Stifling a sneeze, the new person has a laptop under their arm, Apple logo still on and shining. They settle in a chair, sniffling and dabbing at their eyes with tissues they pull out of their pocket, and then, as their reddened eyes meet Wonwoo’s, he knows exactly who’s arrived because no one else in the world has a gaze like that.

Wonwoo is starting to get concerned with the fact that his whole body does what can only be called _A Thing_ whenever he sees Vernon, literally every time (even if the other looks like a wreck who looks like they need something like twelve levocetirizine for what has to be the worst case of hay fever eyes he’s ever seen). He’s never felt quite like this about anyone he’s ever been around before, even if he doesn’t exactly know what _like this_ means. He’s been in love before, so he’s confident it isn’t that, but he’s not sure what it actually is. Whatever it is, though, the feeling is nice, so nice he can’t keep a smile from rising onto his lips, and when Minghao looks up from where they’re pinning the hemline of Wonwoo’s pants, they arch a brow over their gold-tinted glasses and say, “Ah, so that’s Pisces Minor.”

Once again, the brunet has no idea what just came out of Minghao’s mouth, so he drops the topic before he can even remark on it, and focuses on the fact that Vernon’s watering eyes are all squished up in a way that tells him that they’re smiling right back.

“‘Sup, wacks?” they say, and Wonwoo shrugs, earning himself a firm whack on the shoulder with the mulleted designer’s measuring tape, and when Wonwoo grumbles an apology, Minghao rolls their eyes before saying in what is obviously Chinese, _“Shì shéi nòng de luàn qī bā zāo de?”_

 


	9. too overcast for stars

 

It ends up being a lot harder than Wonwoo expected to pretend to forget Jun's birthday, and it bothers him for a solid three days until the day of the bash, given that he is still quite heavy laden with his own grief (which has come, over the past two weeks, in strange fits of emotion interspersed with his standard self when he is alone; in public, however, he holds it together as best he can when the realization where there was someone, there now is nothing). With the hope of redeeming himself and cheering up the despondent blond, the brunet jumps out of bed on the Saturday of the event a little later than he should have.

It feels good, almost relieving, to finally have it be the day of, because his accounting job is technically over now that everything's been paid for. Mingyu, Vernon, Minghao, and even Joshua and Seokmin (who'd been all consumed with deadlines for Prism Mag) had turned in receipts up until the last minute, keeping him busy tracking the budget day in and day out through the tail end of that week. Because of that, he's been dragged into every single project that needed extra hands, since accounting is pretty straightforward - Wonwoo has done more jobs in a week and change than he's ever done before in his life, and he's pretty confident that he can list julienning two entire boxes of mixed bell peppers for Mingyu to roast and learning the most crash course waltz on the planet from Chan on his resumé as part of his newly diversified skill set. The only reason he’d even gotten up so late is because he’d been Minghao’s until about 3:30 in the morning doing origami lucky stars to use as confetti. He’s pretty sure he’d folded at least 500 of the damn things, but the effort is sure to pay off. Decorating is a big deal; making a good impression in such a unique venue is critical - it’s not every day a person can book an art gallery for a dinner party, let alone the famed Riot Gallery, where Minghao’s work has been on display in the past.

Wonwoo’s never been to the Riot Gallery, though, so Jeonghan had dropped the address in his text messages, and he'd checked it the night before. Wonwoo hates using GPS, but it'll do the job, because it's not as if he's trying to take a scenic drive to fucking Montauk. He's going to have to pay a toll, but it's fine; he can pay a toll for Jun and Soonyoung without too much complaint. Still, though, he wishes he’d been up a little earlier, because he’s confident he’s going to get turned around as fuck while trying to figure out the location.

After he showers (taking care, on Mingyu and Minghao’s instruction, to not wash his hair) and puts on some jeans and another band tee from his closet, he switches his wallet and notebook from his shabby shoulder bag into a small, minty green Kånken backpack that Jihoon had gifted him the year before for Valentine's Day. He hadn't had an occasion, until now, to use it, but it's a Saturday outing to a high-class party (even if the party is still a solid five hours away), so he figures having a nice bag that Minghao probably won't kill him for wearing is a good plan. Tossing in his phone charger and the portable block he'd charged overnight, he takes a bottled Frappuccino from his fridge and heads downstairs.

It’s going to be a long day at the Riot Gallery, and if he doesn’t start with a little caffeine to coax him awake after a long night of folding origami table decor with the majority of the crew (and their new dye jobs), he’s confident his brain will melt by 6:00 PM and turn him into a Jihoon clone, glued to a Red Bull and hovering by the restroom all night.

-

His Frappuccino, Wonwoo finds, is only able to get him so far. He’s thrown back another coffee, bitter and black, courtesy of Jihoon, by the time it’s 5:30 PM. The jitters fade out fairly fast, though, and there’s no sugar rush, so Wonwoo is decently awake when the event is due to start at 8:00 PM. At this point, everything’s ready; all of the guests and all the members of the friend group (aside from Jun, Soonyoung, and Minghao) are seated in their places, chatting quietly or minding their phones until Minghao gives the signal to Seungkwan. So far, nothing’s happened, but on Wonwoo’s left, Chan’s got a leg bounce that’s shaking the table so hard that the glass decor (filled with those accursed lucky stars) on the table is rattling. He’s inconsolable, though, as they well know at this point; Jeonghan, two vacant seats away from Chan, is in a similar state (sans the annoying bounce, off course). They’ve busted themselves trying to make things work.

Sofia, Vernon’s sister, is at the dessert table in the corner, arranging things here and there meticulously; she’s in a starry-themed dress and blazer, like the rest of the group is, and has her hair half pinned back. Wonwoo thinks she looks a lot like her older sibling, and from what little he’d gotten to talk to her while everyone was setting up, he finds she’s really a charming young woman. Quickly, he has to banish thoughts of setting her up with his brother. Jeonbuk’s in _Korea_ , for Christ’s sake, with an acting career that’s just starting to take off, and besides, he has a g-

There’s a rattle at the table that startles Wonwoo out of his thoughts, as Seungkwan leaps to his feet and says, as loud as he dares, “Kill the lights! Hao just texted me that they’re coming out; female pronouns on Jun!”

The second Seungkwan’s through talking, everyone’s moving. Wonwoo takes his jacket off the back of his chair, pulling it on and straightening his dark silk tie. Reaching into his pocket, he finds his tie bar, adorned with a familiar symbol, and puts it on. Everyone else at the table is in a similar state, Wonwoo notes as he fishes his phone out of his backpack, and he feels, for the first time in far too long, excitement bloom in his chest.

The lights flicker off, and phones are pressed to thighs and chests to hide their light as everyone waits with bated breath as a door clicks open.

“This way,” Minghao says in English, and a shadow appears in the light streaming in from the doorway. It’s a tall figure, and there is the soft tap of heels. It’s Jun first, since she’s older, and close behind is Soonyoung. They approach the center of the room, and wait there as Hao shuts the door and calls, “Lights, please!”

When the spotlight comes on suddenly, shining brightly down onto Jun and Soonyoung, a soft gasp, amplified by just how many people are in the space, ripples through the room. They’re hand in hand, him in a red-orange suit that fades beautifully from one color to another, and her in a dress that starts with blue at the top and ends with a bright yellow at the hem, they stand in tense silence before Jihoon, ever the perfectionist, produces a harmonica from his jacket pocket and plays a single long note.

Instinctively, Wonwoo draws breath, and along with everyone else in the room, he starts to sing, as he’d been taught last-minute by Minghao, the classic birthday ditty in Chinese to a teary-eyed Jun. When they get through, they start again, singing in Korean to a beaming Soonyoung, and when the song is over, Jun is trying her level best to not cry, fanning her eyes with a hand because her makeup looks fantastic and she doesn’t wanna smear it by wiping at it.

Wonwoo realizes with a start that he’s grinning, and then realizes with the actual biggest fucking manifestation of ‘facepalm’ in emotions he’s ever had in his life that he never pressed record on his phone’s video camera, and has just been holding the thing up like a dumbass for the past three minutes. Thankfully, Chan’s been recording the whole thing, so he’ll just have to ask the dancer for a copy later on.

The lights come on in the main hall over a few moments, slowly fading in as people clap and cheer for the birthday people. People flock to the center of the room to greet them, but Wonwoo remains in his seat, more than happy to chat with someone else at the table while the hubbub chills out. Three seats away, Joshua is adjusting his tie clip, and Wonwoo moves closer to just… try to socialize outside his comfort zone just a little.

“Ah, hey, Wonwoo!” Joshua says brightly after glancing up to see who’d come up beside him, and then he returns to wrestling with his tie clip a bit. Watching for a little, Wonwoo eventually takes pity on the other and asks, “Do you need some help with that?”

Joshua heaves a sigh and hands over his tie clip, and smoothly, the bespectacled brunet fixes it in place so it’ll hold the peach-colored tie against a black shirt. Straightening out the tie, Wonwoo brushes the backs of his hands over the lapel of the other’s jacket and pats him on the shoulder. “Not a dressing up type?”

“I’ve always been a little bad at tie accessories, though I can tie a tie just fine. I didn’t go to formal events much either out in California.” Joshua responds, putting his chin in his hand and watching Jun and Soonyoung thank and greet people. Chan is at Jun’s side, holding her at the waist, and Soonyoung is hand in hand with Jeonghan. Minghao’s left the throng to sit at the table, on the opposite end of the circle from Joshua and Wonwoo, and Wonwoo thinks he sees a twinge of _something_ in the Californian’s expression. There must be a reason for that, he thinks, and when Cheol, in a teal tie, breaks away from the group to have a seat, sure enough, his eyes flicker between Hao and Josh for a few seconds. He sits beside Joshua, moments later, and offers Wonwoo a handshake.

“What’s up, man?” Seungcheol says amicably as they shake hands, and Wonwoo says, “Eh, not a lot? Just waiting for that crowd to hit the food tables or the dance floor so I can go say happy birthday.”

Joshua looks at Wonwoo and says with a smile, “Mm, but I guess that’s your cue.” Wonwoo glances up and, sure enough, Jihoon and his yellow tie are waving him over. He excuses himself from the table and walks toward Jihoon, touching Minghao’s shoulder and nodding as a silent hello and a promise to linger later.

Jihoon, for once in his life, is _not_ glued by the hand to a can of something caffeinated; in fact, it’s much worse: he’s already started partying it up with a glass of wine.

“What in God’s sacred name,” Wonwoo says, “are you drinking?”

“Shiraz,” Jihoon responds. “It’s okay. At least it’s not soju.” He takes a long drink (which Wonwoo is fairly confident is the incorrect way to drink glorified grape juice), draining about half the glass. The brunet looks back at the table he’s just left, and already, Seungcheol is giving Jihoon a run for his money, if the two shot glasses on the table and the third to his lips are anything to go by. It takes Wonwoo a moment to piece together what’s happening, but when he does, his face falls and he says, “Jihoon, you didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did. Bold of you to assume that I wouldn’t.” Jihoon replies, and then he says, as he raises his glass to his lips to finish it off, “Remind me what I did?”

Wonwoo’s tone is laden with mock accusation. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about, huh?”

“Nah,” Jihoon says placidly. “Not a lick of what’s come out of your mouth today has made any sense.”

Wonwoo is about to say something scathing (probably) when he’s interrupted by Jun suddenly crushing him in her arms in a hug that would murder lesser humans. He does his best to hug her back, but the moment she lets go, Soonyoung steps in to make sure Wonwoo’s lungs are appropriately pulverized with a hug of his own. When he escapes that vice grip, he makes a great show of coughing and playing at being practically dead, and Jihoon jabs him in the side after a little bit as Soonyoung, tempted away by the sounds of crockery and cutlery, ambles away. Straightening up, Wonwoo says, “Okay, but really, happy birthday, you two. Jun, I’m sorry for missing your day, but I wanted to keep the surprise intact, and you know we’d have ended up chatting if I’d been the only one to do it.”

“I really thought everyone forgot! I was so sad… But this really makes it better. Thanks. Both of you. Listen, by the way, you remember my cat Longya, right?”

Wonwoo does, in fact, remember the feline; she’d gotten heavy and lazy, and hadn’t been very active when he’d last stopped by Jun and Chan’s place in April. He’d worried if she was okay, but given his own life problems, Jun’s cat had taken a bit of a back seat.

“Is she okay?” Wonwoo says, and Jun sighs. “She was pregnant, and now she’s got two kittens. She’s nursing them really well though, and I was wondering if you’d like to claim one? As soon as they’re weaned, by mid-July, you can take it home. Chan and I don’t have room for three cats, and Soonyoung’s already agreed to take one in with Jeonghan. He says it doesn’t matter which, so I thought you might like to choose? You’re more of a cat person, so I think you’ll have a stronger opinion.”

Jihoon turns from where he’s traded his empty glass for a flute of champagne off a passing waiter with drinks and snacks, and Wonwoo nabs a few hors d'oeuvres from the man’s tray before saying, “Sure. I’ll stop by soon.” Popping what looks like ravioli directly into his mouth, he finds it’s some fancy fried thing, and he eagerly eats the second and third while Jihoon chats with Jun. Chan punches Wonwoo lightly in the arm, and he says with a smile, “This party came together pretty well, I think.”

“Now comes the hard part: keeping everyone on schedule.” Jeonghan sighs, looking over the party, and, following his gaze, Wonwoo’s eyes come to rest on Mingyu, who’s introducing Soonyoung, who makes up the front of the queue, to what there is to eat over at the buffet table. “I’m fairly confident Soonyoung isn’t going to want to do much but eat and dance.”

Chan laughs, but he’s cut off as Jun wanders away with her phone in hand to visit the cake table and take pictures. He looks after her, longing ghosting over his expression, and Wonwoo rolls his eyes. He’s never met someone so whipped as Chan, or a couple so mutable as him and Jun. It’s equal parts amusing and confusing, and Wonwoo is confident he’s not the only person among their group who has exactly no clue what the fuck is happening between them a solid 60% of the time.

“Why don’t,” Jeonghan begins, a smile creeping onto his face (and _oh,_ that pang in Wonwoo’s heart nearly makes him physically flinch), “you just ask Jun to marry you, Chan?”

Chan takes a sip of his champagne, and he says, “Marriage is for chumps.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Jun’s not a chump at all,” Jeonghan says, and Wonwoo covers the fact that he’s laughing with another one of those fried ravioli dealios. Chan looks absolutely victimized, and he pushes at the blond lightly. Jeonghan pushes back, just as lightly, and then they smile at each other. Chan eventually gives into his natural urge and goes after Jun, and Jeonghan excuses himself to eat something. It’s moderately late in the day, and now that all that anxiety’s subsided, Wonwoo supposes the most human instinct is kicking back in and making him hungry.

Unfortunately, that leaves Wonwoo, once again, alone, standing kind of in the middle of things with a few toothpicks (the snacks they’d formerly held having been consumed) and a quickly growing boredom. He isn’t the partying type, and it’s clear; he’s not drawn much to strangers or to the dance floor, He’s not very hungry, but he figures that, with a line that long, he’ll be hungry enough when he gets to the front.

By the time he’s in the queue, there are at least fifteen people between him and Jeonghan (who left like… a minute before Wonwoo did, so this seems somehow unfair), but he’s by Minghao, who looks terribly frustrated. The brunet doesn’t ask; it’s not going to get him anywhere with the vault of feelings that Xu Minghao is practically made up of.

So he waits silently, arms folded over his chest, and there is nothing. When he puts his hands in his pockets, however, Minghao reaches over and pulls his hands out of his pockets.

“...Um.” Wonwoo manages to get out, as the designer testily straightens his suit jacket. He doesn’t manage another word before Minghao says in Korean, words more melodic than usual with their Chinese accent riding hard on every sound, “I’m losing my mind, Wonwoo, I really am.”

Wonwoo, responding in the same language, asks, “Is that why you’re trying to iron my clothes with your hands?”

“Partially,” Minghao admits. “But your jacket’s unvented and you’re going to wrinkle it if you put your hands in your pants pockets. We’ve got the whole evening ahead of us. Stop wrinkling your outfit.” They tug at him a little more, silent and focused, but when Wonwoo thinks he’s heard the last word out of Xu Minghao, the other murmurs, barely audible, “I’m being replaced, Wonwoo. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to feel, and I’m taking it out on _suit jackets_ , of all things!”

So there _is_ something. The brunet resists the urge to put his hands in his pockets again, instead holding his own wrist behind him, and he asks quietly, “Well, do you want to talk about it? I heard talking helps.” He doesn’t mention where he’d heard that; he’s not quite ready to tell anyone about his weekly sessions at therapy. Minghao gazes at him for a long moment, and then they say, meticulously straightening Wonwoo’s tie knot, “He’s more in love with Joshua than with me, and I came first.”

Oh. _Ouch._

“I think that he doesn’t realize it, Wonwoo. He doesn’t know he’s not in love with me anymore, but it’s happening. And I know he doesn’t mean to hurt me, sweet guy that he is, but his actions are speaking for him. He’s gravitating toward Joshua, and Joshua doesn’t realize it either.” Minghao whispers. “But if I leave, what does that do? What good is it for everyone? It’s complicated. It’s drama. I’ve tried so many things, you know? Little things. Things that no one really gets hurt by. I just wanted him to notice, but…”

Clenching their fist for a moment before splaying their fingers wide to stretch their hand, Minghao takes a shaky breath, and Wonwoo feels his whole heart want to rip itself out of his chest to comfort the other. It… translates poorly, though, because he has no idea how to do it without being massively awkward, but he manages to rest his hand on the mulleted artist’s upper arm for a few moments. It gets him a grateful look; it may not be a lot, but the other understands the gesture well.

“He didn’t notice, then?” Wonwoo murmurs, and they shake their head as, out of habit, he tucks his hand in his pocket. Once again, Minghao pulls his hand free, and though the elder of the two is annoyed, he lets it slide. There is a long silence between them as they stand in a line that’s moving at what is, at best, a damn crawl and it is Wonwoo that breaks it by suggesting, “Maybe you should discuss it with them, Minghao. You can try to sort this out.”

“In what world would that change anything? They’re in love.” They look at Wonwoo’s tie clip as a way of steadying themselves, and the brunet murmurs, looking down for a few moments before looking back up to meet the dancer’s eyes, “And where are you in all this? Don’t you think they love you too?”

Minghao takes in a breath through their teeth, and they look back at the table where Seungcheol and Joshua are smiling, hand in hand. What they say manages to crush every single speck of optimism in Wonwoo’s entire body in one fell swoop. It hurts to hear the words, but he knows without confirmation that they hurt infinitely more to admit.

“Oh, sure they do. But they’re not in love with me. I’m just in their way.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments or kudos are always much loved
> 
> i hope this was worth the wait


	10. together, alone

 

As a direct consequence of Minghao’s distress, Wonwoo spends the rest of the party deep in thought about love and relationships, and how sometimes, things don’t go right. Socialization beyond the group seems daunting, and most of the people he’s familiar with are busy. Eventually, though, it’s announced that the cakes have been cut (which is something he’d quietly been looking forward to), but when he looks to the table, it turns out the cakes on the dessert table were just for display (which is just about the most dissatisfying thing Wonwoo has ever heard in his life - who just has cakes for display?); the waiters come out of the kitchen at 10:00 PM with trays of neatly cut slices in two flavors. Jun’s pick is a lemon cake and Soonyoung’s is a strawberry marble cake; Wonwoo helps himself to a slice of lemon cake at the table, his chin in his hand as he gazes at it, taking small bites.

People drift off the dance floor toward the tables to eat cake and get food if they haven’t already, and Wonwoo instinctively casts about for an escape route the minute people start sitting down around him, chatting brightly when he’s trying to think. The balcony doors are propped open, though, so he takes his cake and makes his way there to look out over the city and try to clear his head.

Slipping out through the doors, Wonwoo looks over Manhattan, bright all the way to the horizon with the light of a city alive, and he takes a deep, steadying breath as he leans against the railing and pokes at his cake. In the distance, a horn honks, long and drawn out, and the wind sweeps over Wonwoo, cold enough at the Riot Gallery’s sixth-floor balcony to send a shiver up his spine as he hears what’s probably Wonder Girls coming through the door back inside. He likes this song okay, so he turns his head to listen better, and as he’s so doing, a glimmer on the opposite side of the balcony catches his eye.

“Wild party, huh?” says a voice, and Wonwoo’s heart stutters a bit in his chest. He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone, and when the figure steps forward and the brunet’s eyes can resolve the shadows and light into a person, he draws in a sharp breath.

It’s Vernon, blessed Vernon, except… it somehow _isn’t._ Wonwoo had seen them the night before, but their hair is no longer blond. It’s a sharp, dapper black, and it makes them look ethereal - their skin, pale cream under the half moon’s light, is in contrast to the dark material of their suit and tie. There are hardly any stars in the sky - light pollution’s long since done a number on sky visibility in New York City - but Wonwoo is all of a sudden possessed with the absurd idea that Vernon, in their star-pattened suit, is a star enough. His crush on the other is growing, large enough by now to put a minor panic into the brunet’s chest, and he tries to stamp it down. Swallowing thickly (and hoping it’s not obvious in the low light), Wonwoo says, “It could be wilder, but I’m grateful it isn’t. I’m… not the best in social spaces.”

Again with the oversharing. Internally, he curses himself, but then Vernon approaches, standing beside him and gazing out over the city. Now that they’re near, Wonwoo notices they’ve got makeup on. It’s not complicated, but it adds something to the look that makes it even more overwhelming. Vernon puts their hands in their pockets, and Wonwoo says, completely out of context just because it’s the first thought that comes to his mind, “Minghao doesn’t like hands in pockets, Vernon.”

“Oof, better not, then.” Taking their hands out, the dark-haired person smiles, even if Wonwoo’s comment is off-topic and a little absurd. _Fuck._ This is downright rude on Vernon’s part. Thankfully, the brunet remembers he’s got an escape in the lemon cake in his hand, and looks down to help himself to another bite. There’s silence for a moment, and then Vernon says, “Sofia’s fantastic at that, isn’t she? She’s been doing cakes since she was like 15, and she’s got a business getting up onto its feet. Hopefully, it’ll become something successful, or at least something to earn her a little money while she’s in culinary school; she’s been handing out cards like crazy tonight, and I’m so glad that Hao agreed to let Sofi do the cake.”

“I mean, it’s fantastic cake. It’s not every day I see someone pull off such an artful lemon without making it feel… sugared? Like… I don’t have to crunch sugar in the icing at all, and while I haven’t tried the strawberry, I can’t imagine there’s any way it could be bad. Honestly, I’m just as glad she got the chance to share with us. It’s amazing. And now that Minghao and Jihoon and all the rest of these fancy people here have tasted her cake, I’m sure her clientele’s going to get upscale pretty quick.”

Looking fond (they must be thinking of their sister), Vernon murmurs, “What a lucky break.”

“Luck? Maybe, but I think that it’s just that some of the people in our friend group really good at helping people they care about or who are passionate about something get started on their personal projects. Jihoon has money to burn, and Minghao has all the time in the world. They jump on things that seem even a little innovative at the first chance, and since both Hao and Hoon have an eye for talent, they haven’t had many disappointments yet. Leave it to Lee Jihoon and Xu Minghao to build a celebrity subculture from the ground up.” Wonwoo says.

Vernon sighs, “Yeah, I’m surprised I got in on this. Seems like a pretty exclusive group to me, and realistically, I’m not the kind of person one lets into their clique, you know.”

“No,” Wonwoo responds, helping himself to another forkful of cake, “I don’t know, but what I do know is that if I weren’t Jihoon’s best friend from middle school, I wouldn’t be a part if his friend group now. He’s really successful, but… then I’m me. I mean, you saw where I live. I’m just regular.”

“On the subject, Wonwoo, of seeing, and sorry to change the subject - I need to say this before I forget - there’s a thing going on at Astoria Park next Friday. Just… a movie and stuff. If you like movies, maybe we could go together. Sorry for interrupting. ADHD, you know how it goes. But yeah. That’s… what I wanted to say.”

Wonwoo freezes, fork halfway to his mouth with the last of his cake, and then he sets it down, back on the plate as the wind picks up briefly, blowing through both his and Vernon’s hair as sirens ring out in the distance. Vernon watches him, time somehow distorting slightly under the other’s relaxed gaze, and Wonwoo feels the beginnings of anxiety creeping back out from where he’s been trying to lock them in all evening. Self-consciously, he uses his fingertip to bump his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and says, meeting their eyes for just a few seconds before using the last bite of that sweet lemon cake as somewhere to put his attention, “Yeah, that sounds cool. I don’t think I have anything going on next Friday.”

-

Wonwoo feels like he’s swallowed a whole jar of glitter for the rest of the party because of Vernon. His insides are bright and his mood’s really nice, and so he glides through the rest of the evening, no sweat. He lets Chan coax him out to dance with Soonyoung, even if Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s that great a dancer, he has a couple of shots with Cheol, and, when the party’s winding down, he gets a red-faced Jihoon into a Lyft and sends him to get some rest. When he takes the elevator up, there’s a horde of people waiting to leave, all equipped with some of those overly nice party favor bags that Minghao and Jeonghan had put together.

He barely squeezes out, and makes for the gallery’s main showroom again. By then, people are filing out, gathering themselves and their things, and Soonyoung and Jun are saying their goodbyes and thanking their guests. The others are setting their sights on cleaning, equipped with various items, and before Wonwoo can properly take his eyes off the way Vernon’s back flexes in their suit jacket when they’re mopping, a broom is pushed into his chest.

When he looks down at it, then back up at the person’s face, he’s faced with Seungkwan’s arched brows and a smug little smile. “Come on, Four-Eyes. We’ve got cleaning to do.”

Sighing and rolling his eyes behind his glasses, Wonwoo follows Seungkwan to a corner and starts sweeping. It’s familiar and easy to clean, and since it’s mindless, he lets himself slip into his thoughts.

-

He does not slip _out_ of his thoughts for another four days.

Wonwoo is not the social butterfly he once was, comparatively, and it weighs on him the morning after the party that he is less able to be around people without getting incredibly exhausted. He’s got time to rest, so he does, or so he thinks, because most of his head remains filled to the brim with the way Vernon’s eyelashes flutter and the low thrum of their voice vibrating against his skull. Obviously, this should be concerning, but the moment he thinks that it’s gone and he all but floats through his daily motions: drink coffee, watch television, read, take meds, and sleep; and if he loses a few hours to scrolling mindlessly through social media without ever interacting with anything, it’s fine. It’s the details in between that get buried too - he forgets if he puts milk in his coffee, if he’s had the right dose of his medication (or even what the fuck it’s called), or what show he tuned into, or which pages he left off on, or how long he sleeps, and then it’s back to it the next day.

He thinks Jihoon drops by, but it could’ve been a dream, the way the sunlight slanted in between the venetian blinds and shone in slits behind Jihoon’s head. There’s only a small chance that Jihoon’s hands had actually wrapped around a mug, that Jihoon had actually made conversation with him, complaining about his lack of communication and the 100+ plus notifications on his phone that he forgets to scroll through the moment Jihoon’s gone. Routine is an easy thing to fall into when you have only have the massive emptiness of a single train of thought.

When he finally gets his head together a little better, he realizes just how much time has passed, and he gets a sour taste in his mouth when he realizes that it’s _Wednesday night._ The things he forgets rush into focus like putting on glasses: there are dishes in the sink, clothes on the floor, and the brunet himself feels underbathed because he’s pretty sure he put on these jams on Monday. He drags himself into the shower, stripping down to stand, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes, under the spray. Wonwoo’s started on Zoloft for depression (something he still doesn’t quite believe he has), and taking the pills has made his thoughts quite a bit darker than usual, more painful in all the ways only his own brain can make them. Now that he’s back in himself properly (or something), he tries his best to beat the feeling down and be Jeon Wonwoo _correctly_. It takes a bit of scrubbing on his part to calm the itch under his skin that says he’s going to do something drastic, and with a little bit of extra time the feeling settles to a light buzz in the back of his head.

Feeling some semblance of better after his shower, he puts his glasses back on and ambles, naked and damp, into his bedroom. He doesn’t know where exactly his phone is anymore (it’s probably in the sofa somewhere), but he powers on his laptop while he fishes out some pajama bottoms. It’s time for him to be productive - even if it doesn’t feel like it, he’s a man with a job, and that job requires him to actually put in a little mental effort every so often, especially since deadlines are looming now. Tugging on some pants adorned with paw prints, Wonwoo slumps in his desk chair and fires up OpenOffice Writer. He’s got his usual articles due pretty soon, so he digs his phone out from between the cushions on the couch to call and clock into work, then opens Google Docs in another tab and sets to work with his usual stuff.

-

A few hours pass that way, and the day turns to evening. Wonwoo gets his article drafts done, but he has nothing for the August centerpiece. He digs around for a while, getting a sense of topics that might be relevant or interesting, but nothing makes him want to work at all, so he calls in to clock out via the automated system, and then decides it’s time to dig into his notifications on Discord.

 _1,679,_ the red bubble badging his app announces, and Wonwoo winces. His mental fog had really pulled him far into himself, and if he doesn’t at least make an effort, he won’t have much to say to Junseok at therapy tomorrow but ‘I think I dissociated for 4 days and did nothing to remedy the social fiasco this caused me’. Sighing, he opens up his log with Jihoon and scrolls without reading all the way to the last message:

**_Today at 14:57_ **

**_#1 Lucio Main:_ **

_Okay its been three days if ur not answering this or minding ur calls u have got to be dead in ur apartment_

_If ur dead in there wonwoo i will revive ur dumb ass just to kill u again for worrying me like this_

Clicking back to his home screen, Wonwoo is a bit relieved to see that his notifications have gone down by about 1,100 - as usual, Jihoon is the reason his Discord blows up. However, that leaves upwards of 500 individual messages for Wonwoo to mind, and he’s not sure he cares to even check who sent them, but he does. Most of them are @s from his gaming servers, a handful are from Radio Hell Party, and then are a few dozen from Vernon of all people.

-

**_Last Sunday at 16:37_ **

**_vernon:_ **

_hey i dont know if this kinda shit bothers you but if it does just be like “vernon stfu”_

_i wanted to talk about my day bc it wasnt that good and i just kinda need to vent_

_social media is a bad place for this because i have too many irls on my accounts but i feel like i can tell you because i dunno man_

_oversharing with friends you just made is always a good idea_

_but seungkwan and i go back a while and all that_

_lately though hes been getting super close with seokmin and while thats fine and all_

_given that theyre boyfriends_

_it sucks because we cant hang out like we used to do_

_-_

**_Last Monday at 11:25_ **

**_vernon:_ **

_today has been better_

_my old friends are in the neighborhood so i might chill with them later_

**_Last Monday at 22:51_ **

**_vernon:_ **

_chilling was a bad idea_

_the police are here now_

_-_

**_Yesterday at 05:30_ **

**_vernon:_ **

_good news!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_no jail time_

_just a misunderstanding of all kinds of sizes_

-

**_Today at 13:30_ **

**_vernon:_ **

_you havent responded since friday but you show online_

_are you good_

**_Today at 20:37_ **

**_Wonton:_ **

_shit, i’m so sorry, vernon. i’m on some meds and it’s got me fucked up._

_...we’re still on for the park friday, right?_

_that is, if you don’t go getting arrested before then, right?_

**_vernon:_ **

_oof yeah we’re still on but listen i promise its NOT LIKE THAT_

_i dont look for criminal shit_

_it just happens to me_

_my friends are fucking crazy_

_its what i get for hanging with them_

**_Wonton:_ ** **_  
_ ** _should i eat before i go, vernon?_

**_vernon:_ **

_no no its good_

_theres this FANTASTIC food truck, these tacos and shit, that usually parks on the curb near where the movies playing_

_if not there are usually a whole pack of trucks and vendors to try from_

_they have vegetarian shit too but last i checked you were as much into meat as i was ahaha_

 

Wonwoo has to wonder if… he actually _is_ as much into meat as Vernon seems to be, to the point where he gets stuck on the idea that Vernon may not like anything that’s not meat for a few hours. It’s truly a pointless hill to get stranded on, but he consoles his own foolishness by reminding himself that this is his first time back in the ‘dating scene’. He shudders to think of it in that way, like he’s in some stupid 2005 movie about finding love and wanting to make sure everything works out perfectly so he doesn’t miss his last chance, but he’s completely and totally thinking of it as said last chance, so maybe he _is_ in some movie and currently breaking its 4th, 5th, and 6th walls. He’s got to be on so many layers of reality discovery right now, the simulation must be screaming for help.

“What did you want to talk to me about again?” Jeonghan’s voice asks, in his ear. He nearly drops his phone, startled out of his own tangled tangents of thought, and it takes a moment for him to backtrack and remember why he actually dialed the other male in the first place.

“Uh,” he says, a little too loud. “Uh, what were we talking about?”

“Well, you called me, I asked you to hold on for a sec while I went to sort something out, and here we are.” On the other end, there’s some shuffling, and he hears what sounds like Soonyoung, but what he says goes over Wonwoo’s head, just as he recalls his original intent. “Okay, I know this is gonna sound weird but… how do I come across as less… greenery-interested?

“‘Scuse me, ‘greenery-interested’? Jeon Wonwoo, are you trying to tell me you want to fuck a plant?”

“No! No, no. No! I mean, how do I seem less... vegan-aligned?”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?’ Jeonghan asks, and Wonwoo can hear the way he’s scrunching his face up in complete confusion (just a few short months ago, the downright adorable image might have caused in him a violent conniption of some sort, but now he’s rather preoccupied). “ I don’t know what this is about but I’m pretty sure veganism isn’t a political axis.”

Wonwoo tilts his head down, as if Jeonghan can somehow see how warm his face is starting to feel. Hearing it from someone else makes this problem seem both massive and stupid. Stupidly massive or massively stupid. “I just don’t want to present as - you know - _vegetarian_ , or something.”

“Wonwoo.” Jeonghan laughs quietly through his nose, nearly incredulous. “It’s a dietary choice, not a gender.” Suddenly serious, he continues with, “you’ll be fine with… whatever this is. You don’t have to hide it. Don’t be ashamed of what you like.” There's a beat of silence, and Jeonghan appends, “You have to be honest with yourself or you’ll be unhappy.”

In the background, he notes the sound of a chair groaning over a hard floor. Soonyoung’s voice is only slightly overshadowed by the distinct scrape of a fork against ceramic. “I thought he was already gay.”

“He is.” Jeonghan says around a mouthful. It sounds crunchy, whatever he’s eating, and it’s a satisfying crunch too. Wonwoo files away a reminder to himself to eat something crunchy for dinner, or at least something that’s as interesting to chew.

Soonyoung is now accompanied by a chorus of more crunching. He’s beginning to sound muffled. “Oh, good. What a relief! I thought he turned, like, straight, or something.”

Jeonghan gives a bright, twinkling little laugh, and Wonwoo remembers the tingling it had sent through him the first time he’d heard it. “We’re talking about his preference for vegetables.”

At this, Soonyoung is quiet again, and Wonwoo trails to the kitchen to check his fridge for That Crunch he’s looking for. There’s not much in there, which means he’s going to have to order in, and he digs his menus out of the drawer by the spoons while holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. “You say it like it’s a _sexual_ preference. I just don’t want it to be a turn off.”

“Well, when you word things like that,” Jeonghan retorts, “it’s hard to not perceive it as a sexual thing.”

Soonyoung chooses this moment to return to the conversation, with just about the worst possible answer. “Hey, I know it seems like a great substitute, but zucchini does not, in fact, replace a dick. Eat plants, don’t fuck them.”

Jeonghan makes a wordless, scandalized noise, distancing himself from Soonyoung’s awkward burst of laughter that turns to real mirth when he says, “Oh, God, both my friends are plantfuckers.”

“I can explain-“

“And I wish you couldn’t,” Jeonghan says, as Wonwoo blurts out, “No, don’t.”

It throws the dancer into a fit of giggles drowned out for a few seconds by loud, metal clattering. There’s a definite smile in Jeonghan’s voice as a rustling sound tells Wonwoo he’s drawn closer to Soonyoung. “You’re on speaker. Shed some light on your history of vegetable related sexcapades.”

Wonwoo definitely does not have any vegetable related sexcapades, but he does relay his initial worries to Jeonghan. Once it’s all out, it once again sounds both incredibly silly and completely rational.

He doesn’t get made fun of, aside from a few laughs from Jeonghan, who responds in a chiding voice, like a gentle parent, “Don’t you think you’re reading too deeply into this?”

“Have you listened to them talk, though? “ Wonwoo stresses, “They actually know their shit. What if they ask me about vegan shit like overpricing and exploited workers and cultural integrations and stuff? I can’t answer any of that because I’m not vegan!”

“Then what’s the problem if you’re not?”

“They said, ‘last I checked you were as much into meat as I was,’ but like, what does that mean? Plus, I like vegetables a lot, so, like, what if I seem like I’m fake-”

“Wow. Wonwoo, you’re really ready to lose your whole mind over them, aren’t you?” Soonyoung comments.

“Listen,” he starts, with nothing else to say. Jeonghan waits for him to speak, and upon realizing he’s not going to continue, the ex-model takes the wheel. “Wonwoo. Vernon’s a nice kid. They’re a deep thinker, but only about deep things, and this really is _not that deep_. Don’t pitch a fit over it. Take a few breaths. I sincerely doubt that the dealbreaker for Vernon’s interest is going to be whether or not you ingest a carrot sometimes.”

It’s only then that Wonwoo notices a light jitter of his hands, and he forces them to still by clenching his fingers and stretching them back out in slow movements. His voice is quiet when he says, “This _is_ kind of stupid, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s normal for you to be anxious about stuff, ain’t it? I mean I’m pretty sure it’s expected of an anxious person to have, y’know, anxiety,” Soonyoung reasons. It comes out casual, but for some reason he feels a little less like he’s losing his mind. It’s reassuring.

That is until Jeonghan says, “Do you think Vernon would get upset if I tell Wonwoo what you told me they told you not to tell anyone?”

“But you can’t tell Vernon what Jeonghan tells you ‘cuz they told me to tell no one.”

“I’m no one,” Jeonghan supplies.

Wonwoo says, “Y’all lost me.”

“So apparently, Soonyoung here tried to put the moves on V-”

“Vernon is gay and not into me!” Soonyoung interrupts, directly into the microphone. Wonwoo feels the converational staredown the two share before both of them start making their crunching sounds again.

“Uhm. I sure hope they are, considering they asked me on a date.”

“So it’s a date!” Jeonghan says, so suddenly and loudly that the audio cuts out and makes him sound like a demon. Wonwoo is starting to think he might have been possessed by one, because Jeonghan normally can’t even yell that loud.

“Oh god,” Soonyoung groans. “I’m not ready to see Wonwoo get married after a long, convoluted, dramatic, slow-burning plot obviously written by jobless young adults exploring their lack of romance and social interaction through characters.”

“Soonyoung,” Jeonghan murmurs gently, a few beats too late. “What the certifiable fuck are you talking about.”

There’s silence, and then even more crunching (which is starting to drive him up the absolute wall). It takes a few beats for Wonwoo to fully process all that the dancer said, finding, to absolutely no one’s great surprise, that it still makes no sense, and the couple on the phone offer nothing but a series of unintelligible noises. It sounds like they’re both trying to speak at once, and Wonwoo ventures, “Huh?”

Jeonghan is the first to actually chew and swallow. “Oh, speaking of marriage, I have some news. Wonwoo, we’re getting married.”

 


	11. as safe as houses

Wonwoo is thrown for a loop. A very, very large loop. A loop as large as the New Jersey turnpike. “I-I’m flattered that you think of me like that now, but I think you’re just a little bit too late.”

“No, not us!” Jeonghan chokes out around his food.

“ _ Us _ !” Soonyoung continues. “ _ We’re  _ getting married!”

“Oh.” 

Wonwoo promptly forgets what the entire conversation was supposed to be about in the first place. He thinks to ask when this happened or why they didn’t tell him sooner or why exactly this became the main topic right now of all times, but instead he says, as Jeonghan resumes chewing  _ directly into the microphone _ , “I can’t even fully process that right now because of the damn crunching.  _ What  _ in  _ God’s name _ are you eating?”

Soonyoung responds through a mouthful, “A salad. We’re trying to eat healthy so we ordered salads. We put all the stuff together, though, and made some meat! We found out we’re not half-bad at following written instructions.”

“We got one of those HelloFresh boxes with the recipes and all the ingredients in them,” Jeonghan continues, and it’s such a disturbingly homey thing to do that Wonwoo feels like he’s been exposed to some kind of extreme marital radiation. It makes him feel for a solid ten seconds like he’s liquified in the face of all this subtle romance.

For a passing second, he considers the prospect of getting engaged and planning a wedding - there’d probably be a big cake that never gets finished, no wedding topper because he’d gag. Whoever would be next to him would have to be okay with a small ceremony because he’d loathe some big fancy spectacle all for him to put a ring on a finger and give a kiss. The suit he’d wear would probably be designed by Minghao, and Jihoon would probably sit at a piano himself and smile like he’s watching his own child grow up, even though Wonwoo’s older. His brother would come, and of course… he’d want his mother there.

It brings a stinging tightness right behind his ribcage, when he considers the vows he would say, devoting his entire life to someone and having to trust the returning vow to do the same. 

He clears his heart from his throat with a laugh. “That was so domestic that I’m now officially going to hurl. Thank you. I’ll be going now.”

“Rude,” Jeonghan grunts, and Wonwoo hangs up before he can add anything else.

With some deliberation, he figures making a joke about this would be best to show he’s not actually upset. He enters the Discord server and starts typing in the chatlog labelled ‘#rant’. _  
_ ****

**_Wonton:_ ** __  
_ hi, so i’m here to complain about the disgusting domesticity i was just exposed to. _ __  
****

**_Cheol:_ ** __  
_ Oof kngi go fofo _ __  
_ Off _ __  
_ Fof  _ __  
****

**_Shua:_ ** __  
_ You were right the first time, Seungcheol. _ __  
****

**_Cheol:_ ** _  
_ _ I’ve taken his phone privileges away. _

_ But as he was saying: _

_ oof king go off _ _  
_ ****

**_Hoon:_ **

_ Im waiting for this plane to take off u better not make me wait til i land to hear this fucking tea _

_  
_ **_Nonu:_ **

_ jeonghan and soonyoung. _ _  
_ _ they ordered. _

_ a hellofresh box. _

_ TOGETHER. _

_ they ate. _

_ salad. _

_ this is somehow way more weird than the fact that they’re suddenly getting married. _ _  
_ ****

**_Hoon:_ ** _  
_ _ Disgusting ugh _

_ Who pays for salad _ _  
_ ****

**_Shua:_ ** __  
_ Is that why Soonyoung's name is Plantfucker9000 now? _ __  
****

**_Plantfucker9000:_ ** __  
_ whattttttttttttttttttttttttttt _ __  
****

**_Chani:_ ** _  
_ _ that is so disgusting. _

_ everyone knows blue apron is better. _

**_Hani:_ **

_ As the person who changed Soonyoung’s name, I’m letting you know there’s a much deeper story to Plantfucker 9000 ;) _

**_Plantfucker9000:_ **

**_@Hani_ ** _ please don’t do this to me _

**_Hani:_ **

_ I won’t! _

**_Kwani:_ **

_ But I sure will.  _

_ Story time! _

**_Plantfucker9000:_ **

_ NO _

**_Noni:_ **

_ YES I DONT KNOW THIS ONE _

**_Kwani:_ **

_ So we were in college together, as you may well know, and Soonyoung calls me up in an absolute panic. _

_ He’s legitimately having a fit on the phone and he’s crying so hard he can’t tell me what’s happening. _

_ So of course, like the loving, sensitive friend I am, I asked him if he was injured or in danger, and when he said no, I told him to quit being a little bitch and stop crying. _

**_Hoon:_ **

_ Not to be that guy but  _ **_@Nonu_ ** _ this is way more interesting than ur story _

**_Nonu:_ **

_ honestly, hard agree. _

**_Hoon:_ **

_ I love having dirt on soonyoung _

**_Plantfucker9000:_ **

_ why is it roast soonyoung hours _

_ 24/7 _

_ in this chat _

**_Chani:_ **

_ because you’re the one of us that does the most stupid shit tbh. _

**_Plantfucker9000:_ **

_ `n` _

_ mean _

**_Kwani:_ **

_ As I was saying! _

_ I show up at his dorm and I open the door with his spare key. His poor roomie, Edwin, looked really worried, and I shooed him off, told him I had it under control. _

_ “It might be a Korean thing, Edwin. Go on back to your Playstation.” _

_ So I unlock Soonyoung’s room and I open the door. _

**_Hani:_ **

_ This is the best part, pay attention. _

**_Hoon:_ **

_ Mingyu says not to leave him hanging while hes putting the luggage in the overhead bins _

**_Kwani:_ **

_ In I go, and there the fuck is Soonyoung, laying on his face, crying into his pillows, ass to the door, and maybe three inches of what I still at that point couldn’t tell you in English was a zucchini is sticking out of his ass. _

**_Noni:_ **

_ soonyoung really did that huh _

_ thats so wild _

**_Plantfucker9000:_ **

_ listen _

_ it was an accident _

_ i PANICKED _

**_Kwani:_ **

_ SOONYOUNG, YOU IDIOT, HOW DO YOU JUST PANIC A PHALLIC VEGETABLE EIGHT INCHES UP YOUR ASS? _

 

Wonwoo sometimes just  _ cannot _ with his friends, and as they get into telling embarrassing stories more and more, he quietly slips away to answer a notification from his brother.

 

**_Jeon Bohyuk:_ **

_ hey wonwoo what's up _

_ i wanted to say i landed a part in a traveling show _

_ our schedule takes us to new york _

_ you mind if i visit? _

_ it's like _

_ the third week of july _

_ before your birthday _

**_Jeon Wonwoo:_ **

_ congratulations on your part. you're welcome to come by anytime. if you want me to pick you up at the airport, you can even stay over a few days while you're here. _

**_Jeon Bohyuk:_ **

_ that would be fantastic! _

_ we can really reconnect _

_ oh btw mom says hi and that you need to come visit her _

_ i'm staying here in changwon with her until i leave to work _

**_Jeon Wonwoo:_ **

_ i'm not sure i can be the son she remembers loving quite right anymore. _

**_Jeon Bohyuk:_ **

_ wonwoo you know mom is more open minded _

_ you know she's willing to try to get it _

**_Jeon Wonwoo:_ **

_ i don't want to make her do anything. _

**_Jeon Bohyuk:_ **

_ you wouldn't be forcing her _

_ it's not like it's not something she wants to try to do _

_ but it sucks that we live in a world where someone loving someone else in a way different than us is still something we have to fight to understand _

-

Bohyuk is right, but Wonwoo tries not to dwell on it, instead focusing on his looming date-hangout-thing-dealio with Vernon. He spends all of Thursday and most of Friday morning pulling himself together; after his therapy appointment with Junseok, he gets himself a nice, fresh haircut (which he discusses with Minghao to figure out what might look good), bullshits three pages on AIDS for his first centerpiece check-in (it’s something simple, bare bones, and it’s not the topic he wants, but it sure makes him look productive!). He calls Jihoon to ask a question, but gets the answering machine.

_ “Hey. This is just a recording of my voice, so you can stop talking now. Anyway, leave me a message, or if you’re not lame and old, hit me up on Discord. If you have this number, you have that too, so. Scoot along or talk when it beeps.” _

Wonwoo hangs up before the beep and sighs. He’d forgotten Jihoon and Mingyu were in France for one of Jihoon’s collaborations - rather than fly all the way back to Korea, he’d met with the other producer in a place new to both of them. However, 15 minutes before he’s due to chill with Vernon, Wonwoo can’t say he’s too excited about the couple’s impromptu vacation to Europe. He’s anxious now, with no one to talk to about his concerns, so he fixes himself a bowl of cereal while he waits for Vernon to come pick him up. It’s fuckin’ Fruity Pebbles, though, so he has to eat them fast or they’ll turn into colorful mush (which he has found out on the way back up [that one time he had gastritis] all mixes together into green in your stomach; this has not deterred him in any way). Halfway through the bowl, his phone rings, and he answers on his bluetooth headset without looking at the screen.

“H’lo?” he mumbles around a mouthful of cereal and milk.

“Hi,” says Vernon, and Wonwoo, in a mild panic, spits his cereal directly into his hand. Lowkey amazed at how gross that looks, he coughs to disguise the action, and he says again, “Hey! Hi! Hello, Vernon!”

“You said 1807, right? I’m downstairs. Please hurry. The guy at the door with the Blender Bottle looks like he might kill me.”

“Who, Shownu? Nah. He’s a teddy bear. Wouldn’t hurt a fly unless he thought the kids on the block were in danger. Anyway, what car are you in?”

“Uh, it’s a Toyota Camry LE? 1995. Can’t miss it; it manages to be the crustiest thing on this block. Oh, wait. There’s one just like it around the corner. Fuck. Uh… It’s  _ not _ the burgundy one. It’s the one that looks like sand? But also like toast. It’s brown. Kinda.” Vernon supplies by way of explanation (or complication).

Wonwoo has no idea what that means, but he’s going to chance it and trust he at least knows what burgundy looks like. Looking at his handful of mush, he says, “Can you give me, like, two minutes? I just need to make sure I… Don’t have the oven on.”

That’s believable, right? He doesn’t really feel like telling them he panicked and spat a mouthful of overly sugared cereal typically reserved for children into his hand.

“I’ll be here, then!”

The line clicks off, and Wonwoo springs into action. He takes his bowl in one hand, and, looking at his half-chewed cereal, briefly considers eating it before his inner Jihoon voice yells in the back of his mind,  _ “Fucking nasty-ass bitch!” _ and he thinks better of it. He dumps it in the sink before quickly shoveling three heaping spoonfuls into his mouth from the bowl and chasing it with the milk at the bottom. He runs some water over his bowl to stave off any roving roaches that may have encroached on his space, and then remembers there’s still cereal in his mouth. Hustling his ass into the bathroom while still chewing, he cards his hands through his hair (which changes nothing, thanks to his new haircut) and rinses his mouth when he’s finally swallowed his mouthful of unicorn shit. Snatching his bag off the coat rack (where he put it kinda anticipating something like this, he slips into his Vans and races out the door.

He has to turn around at the elevator because, like an idiot, he didn’t lock his apartment.

Wonwoo is off to a great start.

-

Vernon, almost thankfully, isn’t doing much better. When Wonwoo gets in beside them, they straighten their posture a bit, flashing a bright smile that seems to falter nervously at its edges, before heading off the block and on the way into Queens. The first few minutes of the ride are rather quiet, and Vernon keeps wiping their palms on their pants (they’re black, ripped and distressed, and after a glance at the long tear on the upper thigh, Wonwoo feels distressed himself) at every stop light before the RFK Bridge. Wonwoo, fidgeting with his fingers, hopes the ride is short so he doesn’t feel the social obligation to make awkward conversation. 

Of course, as whatever holy asshole that controls fate would have it, there’s traffic a quarter of the way up the bridge, and based on Vernon’s GPS, it’s going to take much, much longer to get into Astoria

“Oh no,” Vernon starts, and they bring their hands down to wipe them again. “That’s not good.”

“How long does this usually take?”

“I dunno. 20 minutes?” They cast a glance at him, and then add, unprompted, “I like your hair.”

“Ah.” Most of what Wonwoo wanted to follow up with, if anything at all, crashes to a halt. He gives an odd, stumbling, little chuckle, but Vernon doesn’t seem to notice it, leaning back in their seat and resting their arm against the window. Their bottom lip juts out like they’re pouting, which doesn’t help the bright fluttering in Wonwoo’s legs. It’s already weird enough that he can’t seem to speak around Vernon and their freshly darkened hair - now all his sentiments are falling to the wrong body parts. “Uh. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome?” Vernon mimics, like its a question. It gets another laugh out of Wonwoo, and another smile on Vernon’s face, more genuine than the first, like they’re feeling confident. 

“Minghao suggested this cut,” Wonwoo gestures to his hair, careful not to run his hands through it and muss it up. “I..don’t know how fashion designers work but I guess they must be doing the right thing if it gets a compliment?”

“You’re the one wearing it.” Vernon says. “Style’s only as good as the person it’s on.”

Wonwoo blinks, as he processes the implications of what just passed out of their mouth and tries to deliberate whether it counts as flirting. His chest starts to tighten, the pleasant pressure of his excitement trying to choke him to death. He gives a breathless wheeze, his nose scrunching, and responds, “Didn’t do it myself though. I just kinda sat there and let them do all the work.” 

“What I said still stands.” Vernon takes a peek at the clock, and leans back in their seat and groans petulantly. Wonwoo watches the line of their throat as they sink into their seat, spluttering like a horse, and wonders how someone could possibly look good doing something so silly. “I’m gonna keep it real with you: I’m like 87 percent sure we’re not gonna make this movie.”

“Well, there’s still the food truck, right?” Wonwoo asks.

Vernon claps, bolting up in their seat and jabbing a finger at him. “Right! I forgot about that! We could do that instead.”

“Good. I did not spit cereal into my hand only to go back home.”

“You did what now?”

“It’s nothing. Ignore that,” Wonwoo waves a hand to hide the flush on his face. “Anyway, I’m down for anything if you are.”

-

Forty minutes later, their movie solidly missed, they settle down on a bench with some tacos procured from a food truck Wonwoo’s seen around the city at events more than once (and, once he takes the first bite, he makes a mental note to tell Jihoon about Chachi’s). Vernon doesn’t start right away, instead stuffing a handful of one dollar bills and a few coins into their pocket before getting their teeth to work.

They both chew silently for a few moments before Wonwoo asks, “So how’s your sister?”

“Sofi’s good,” Vernon says, squirreling away their bite of food into their cheek to respond. Vernon’s got a Korean manner of eating, the kind that makes Western whites cringe a little bit, but it makes Wonwoo feel right at home to see them chew like himself and Jihoon. “She’s got a scholarship out to the CIA.”

Wonwoo is decidedly confused, so he says, before taking another bite of his carne asada taco topped with cilantro and onion, “...I thought she wanted to be a chef.”

Vernon quickly realizes that the acronym has flown directly over Wonwoo’s head, and they say, “Oh! Uh, not with the government. With the Culinary Institute of America, out in Hyde Park.”

At this, Wonwoo smiles. Someone with so much potential deserves that. He’s about to express congratulations, but Vernon, whose eyes are fixed on something to the north, doesn’t seem like they’re listening very well at all. He waits, taking another mouthful, until they say, eyes still gazing away from Wonwoo, “In a few weeks, Sofi and my parents are going up there to set up her dorm and get things sorted out. When they come down again… My grandma in Florida is sick. So...”

Wonwoo’s smile melts off his face, but he tries not to seem  _ too _ heartbroken as he asks, “So you’re moving to take care of her?”

“That was the plan, but I wanted to find out, before it’s time to go, if you know someone who can take in a stray.”

Oh, Vernon, blessed Vernon, is looking for someone to care for some sweet helpless animal that has to stay behind and needs love. If that’s not the fucking softest thing Wonwoo has ever heard, he’s the Queen of England. Wonwoo chews his lip a little, and after some thought, he nods. Certainly someone could be called upon to take in a pet that can’t come on a long trip down the Eastern Seaboard. Vernon looks back to him, eyes hopeful, and he stammers a bit ( _ keep it together, Jeon Wonwoo) _ as he asks, “Wh-what kind of pet is it? A cat, a dog, a hamster, a guinea pig…?”

“A person,” Vernon mumbles. “It’s me.”

Wonwoo stuffs his mouth with the end of his taco so the comment about how his life is starting to turn into a romance novel doesn’t fucking jump out. He chews as slowly as he reasonably can so he doesn’t look super eager, and when he does, he says, heart pounding in his guts like a military cannon, “You can have my living room, if you want. Until you can get yourself set up to be on your own.”

Vernon’s eyes light up, and despite the way Wonwoo’s suddenly radioactive blood melts through what feels like the floor of his heart (do hearts have floors? can blood be radioactive?), he decides that Vernon’s smile in the sundown city light is worth the nervousness that pops in his chest like hot kettle corn.

-

Moving in with another person is not like the romance novels make it out to be; before even a single shirt is moved from one home to the other, there’s a lot of motions to get through, one of which is meeting Vernon’s parents in July, which seems far off from his vantage point in mid-June. But of course, and before Wonwoo is really ready, the thick of July is on the horizon. His birthday, big and bad, looms just out of sight; his work due date is right there, too. He’s barely gotten anything out for it, and if it’s a centerpiece, he’s going to have to put a little more care into the work than just regurgitating some statistics. He needs some feeling, something real, but he can’t seem to pull anything out of himself.

It’s been a few weeks since he offered Vernon a place in his house (and, lowkey, by extension, in his heart), and they haven’t moved in quite yet; they’d run the idea by their parents, and, reasonably enough, Mr. and Mrs. Chwe wanted to meet Wonwoo before going ahead and feeling too comfy with letting the move go down. So now Wonwoo is cleaning his house off his normal cleaning schedule, because he has to welcome a perfectly normal nuclear family into his living room (since there’s no dining room or any significant table-like structure where he can accommodate that many guests [which is to say four people]).

He’s even gotten out the Dust Buster to take out the dust bunnies in back of the T.V. Wonwoo’s a little bit sad about that; he’s been getting kind of fond of seeing them, which is actually just a sign that he really should’ve tackled cleaning that corner sooner.

 Getting under that sofa is the ordeal of the century - while vacuuming up the dust behind the entertainment center was bad, getting under the sofa nearly has Wonwoo putting his hand into a glue trap. He’d forgotten he’d had that there; it’s a testament to just how many mice he’s had since he laid it down. After examining the date on the edge of the trap where he’d written it on the card stock before putting it down, he decides that, for the moment, the trap is still good, so he sucks up the dust under there with his handy dandy vacuum, before extricating himself from the tight space.

As soon as the apartment is cleaned, Wonwoo ventures into the kitchen, deeply apprehensive of what he’s about to do. Sure, he’s still a little while ahead of schedule, but he’s got to cook, and he’s really not feeling up to waiting until the last minute to start a recipe he’s never tried before. Besides, if Mingyu was going to help him over FaceTime, as he promised, Wonwoo needs to start now. It’s 5 PM in New York, and that means it’s at least midnight in France (or something), because even if it’s been a few weeks, Jihoon and Mingyu are still out on the ass end of Jihoon’s business trip.

-

Thirty minutes before the Chwes arrive, Wonwoo’s bibimbap is nearly ready to serve. He has practically everything done - the last thing he has to do is fry the eggs, and that’s something he can do himself, so he lets Mingyu go after showering him in thanks and then goes to shower himself with soap and water. 

As Wonwoo gets in the shower and stands with his back to the hot spray, he sighs, looking down at his bare feet. Wiggling his toes a bit, he braces his arm against the wall of the shower and rests his head on it. He knows showers are mundane, but somehow, they feel like a liminal space, like he’s not quite here and he’s not quite there. By every definition, showers are the most ordinary thing he does aside from sleeping, but here, now, Wonwoo feels, once again, an odd and novelesque sensation ripple through him. 

Taking a deep breath and wondering how much time he’s lost, he turns off the water and steps out of the shower - and nearly falls to his anticlimactic death when he slips on the tile. He grabs at the towel rack, and thankfully, doesn’t break his neck because he only ends up splayed in a very strange position as opposed to dead on the ground in his tiny apartment bathroom.

Once again, Jeon Wonwoo is off to a great goddamn start.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @kyunzite.


End file.
